Rubber Match

NJ should be home in an hour or so, and we'll see who'll win this week's best-of-five World Series of Teething.

Monday she came home with perfect teeth imprints on the back of her right hand.

At bath time Tuesday, we pulled her long-sleeved shirt off to find a giant mark on her left forearm that The Wife characterized as "a horse bite."

Wednesday morning I politely chewed out a very nice lady when I dropped NJ off at day care. Seems that a boy in her group is going through teething hell lately, according to his parents, and the day care folks would be more vigilant in overseeing them. Without blaming the biter, I explained that I thought one bite was understandable, but another bite the very next day seem a little ... unfortunate. "Maybe you guys could keep an eye on him and at least maybe let him gnaw on someone else for the rest of the week," I said, smiling big but trying to put a little "I mean it" in my eyes. That afternoon NJ sported no new bite marks, and I got an accident report explaining that she "got bit by a friend when they were playing together in the tomato house in the playground." Feeling like I was in control and getting results, I immediately demanded that they start spelling NJ's name correctly on her art projects, the nap tally board and other paperwork.

Thursday there were no new bites.

So: 2-2. Today will tell the tale. More later!

UPDATE: NJ didn't get bitten today! Some other girl gave her a big scratch on her arm, though, that warranted another accident report. So she wins the World Series of Teething, but it's something of a hollow victory.

It's Easy To Trace The Tracks Of These Teeth

The Wife brought NJ home from day care today and thrust three stapled pages at me. "Biting," the headline read. I scanned the first few lines, which outlined the reasons children bite other children. Before I could ask if NJ gnawed on someone -- she's still only got two teeth, but they are razor-sharp -- The Wife held the kid's hand out in my direction and showed me this:

Get forensics to make a cast of these bite marks and let's catch this perp.

The morning minder wasn't around by the end of the day, so The Wife didn't get the story (assuming the minder even saw the incident) -- whether NJ was all up in some kid's grill, or if there was dispute over toys, or if the other kid is teething terribly or just unhappy or anxious at day care, or what. All I know is that other kid had better run when he or she sees me coming, because I will make his or her life a living heck. Do you hear me, other kid? I will hunt you down Charles-Bronson-in-'Death-Wish' style. A. Living. Heck.

OK, not really. But keep your choppers to yourself, alright?

When the ladies got home NJ smiled real big and reached out for me, and now I can hear her happily chattering in the kitchen with The Wife, so she's obviously put the bite in her rear-view. Hopefully The Wife will get the lowdown tomorrow morning, and if it's at all interesting I'll update. But for now let's just chalk it up to kids being kids. At least the bite isn't contagious, like the two colds I've caught since she's been going to day care. (Unless rabies are involved, of course. Wait, what am I saying ...?)