Brushing Teeth coloring pages are featuring Patrick, who has brushed his teeth and tooth brush with tooth, which praised him for it.
Brushing teeth, as it turns out, is one of those curious rituals that humans perform daily, much like attempting to fold fitted sheets or pretending to understand economics. It’s a peculiar dance of bristles and paste, a foamy frolic in the cavern of one’s mouth and it’s a habit that, if introduced to children early on, promises them a lifetime of dazzlingly unappreciated dental hygiene and, presumably, fewer uncomfortable moments with people dressed in white coats holding menacingly small metal hooks.
Tooth decay, as we’re constantly reminded by people who have suspiciously perfect teeth, is an invisible villain lying in wait to carve caverns into our unsuspecting molars. Children, who are usually more interested in adventures involving dragons than those involving dental floss, must somehow be convinced that this twice-daily tussle with their toothbrush is a heroic quest. For the mighty fluoride warrior and its soft-bristle steed can vanquish the evil plaque army and banish bad breath dragons to realms far away, or at least make sure they don’t offend fellow humans at close range.
But perhaps most fascinating is the curious notion that brushing teeth imparts some grand lesson in responsibility, a word that tends to make children groan in that “not this again” sort of way. Taking care of one’s own teeth, they are told, is the first rung on the great ladder of self-care, a ladder that eventually leads to all sorts of grown-up things like paying bills and trying not to spill spaghetti sauce on white shirts. Yet for now, by mastering the art of oral hygiene, kids are subtly taught that their own well-being is in their own hands (or at least, in their own tiny toothbrush-wielding fists), which is both a sobering and slightly ridiculous realization for anyone under the age of ten.
Brushing teeth, as it turns out, is one of those curious rituals that humans perform daily, much like attempting to fold fitted sheets or pretending to understand economics. It’s a peculiar dance of bristles and paste, a foamy frolic in the cavern of one’s mouth and it’s a habit that, if introduced to children early on, promises them a lifetime of dazzlingly unappreciated dental hygiene and, presumably, fewer uncomfortable moments with people dressed in white coats holding menacingly small metal hooks.
Tooth decay, as we’re constantly reminded by people who have suspiciously perfect teeth, is an invisible villain lying in wait to carve caverns into our unsuspecting molars. Children, who are usually more interested in adventures involving dragons than those involving dental floss, must somehow be convinced that this twice-daily tussle with their toothbrush is a heroic quest. For the mighty fluoride warrior and its soft-bristle steed can vanquish the evil plaque army and banish bad breath dragons to realms far away, or at least make sure they don’t offend fellow humans at close range.
But perhaps most fascinating is the curious notion that brushing teeth imparts some grand lesson in responsibility, a word that tends to make children groan in that “not this again” sort of way. Taking care of one’s own teeth, they are told, is the first rung on the great ladder of self-care, a ladder that eventually leads to all sorts of grown-up things like paying bills and trying not to spill spaghetti sauce on white shirts. Yet for now, by mastering the art of oral hygiene, kids are subtly taught that their own well-being is in their own hands (or at least, in their own tiny toothbrush-wielding fists), which is both a sobering and slightly ridiculous realization for anyone under the age of ten.
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