I forgot to mention. Short Pants lost another tooth last Wednesday. When he told me it was loose, I asked him to show it to me. “Don’t pull it out,” he pleaded, and opened his mouth.

“Don’t pull out this one?” I replied, showing him the tooth I had just pulled out.

Baby Girl also lost a tooth last week. “Papa,” she said, “my tooth feels funny.”

“That’s because it’s not there,” I answered. Somewhere between the start of dinner and the end, she had swallowed it. At first I told her that she would have to wait and – ahem – recover the tooth before it could be left for the Tooth Fairy, but I relented after she wrote a sweet and apologetic letter to the enamel fetishist.

I’m just trying to get them home with a few teeth left. I didn’t pack enough straws.