Teeth? What teeth?

So Mom Camp started Sunday afternoon.

We stuck the 8 year old and the almost 10 year old in their respective groups and adjourned to take deep breaths and watch Wonderfalls (which is as good the umpteenth time around as it was the first).

And then life happened.

The phone rang. It was the almost 10 year old's mom. The camp nurse had called her to say that, um, they were playing volleyball (the almost 10 years olds, not the nurse) and, well, it seems that in the process, someone knocked three of his teeth out.

Say what?

Three teeth? Just like that? When he'd only been there five hours?

Not to mention that his major sport is FISHING.

No matter. They don't start majors till Monday. And anyway, they're out (the teeth). Baby teeth, they think. Subtext: they hope.

Call the dentist, my daughter, the athletic training professor said. I called the dentist.

Dentist said, "I want to see him. Now. Go get him and meet me at my office."

So I did.

And happily for all concerned, they were baby teeth -- and no, he doesn't really have any to speak of on that side of his mouth now on his lower jaw, and yes, the other kid with the flying elbow said, sorry, and it doesn't really hurt that much, and can you please bake cookies tomorrow?

So things are pretty much back to normal. His aunt the athletic training professor baked cookies this afternoon, and this morning he went cheerfully off to fish (and bowl and play basketball).

And we are all waiting with bated breath in case the nurse calls again, as the 8 year old is actually majoring in volleyball.