At about 10 p.m. last night, Elizabeth came into our room and handed me a tooth. It had been loose for a while, no worries, but just figured it was the only way our pretty packed Sunday could end.
No money under her pillow. Like Santa Claus, something we don't really subscribe to. We did the rewards when she was younger.
Robert still has yet to lose a tooth. He's at the dentist, now, though, with one tooth really wiggling and another pushing it out. Like with the bicycle, he's afraid of the pain, so he won't eat on that side of his mouth and won't eat corn on the cob at all.
Of course, none of this compares to Saturday. Sunday was supposed to be the easy day, while Saturday we started the day with a Bloomington Chorale concert at the farmer's market in Bloomington and finished with a family get-together because Aunt Kathleen and Uncle Jim were in town from New Hampshire. That and I left in the middle to go sing at 5 p.m. Mass and returned later. Sunday was just supposed to be the golfing. And just ours, not Tom Watson's.
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