Despite our good intentions, sometimes I think my husband and I are top contenders for the  Grandparents Who Screw Up the Most Award.

There was the time I taught Riley and her little brother Sammy, then five and three, the lyrics to “Shake Your Booty.” Hey, we were dancing around the living room at the time, and that is a great boogie song.  Problem is, the words, “shake your booty” seemed to rattle other people when these two preschoolers would suddenly belt out the lyrics in the back seat of the car or at the dinner table or whenever the mood struck them.

Recently, my husband was the unwitting accomplice in Sammy having his “fry pulled” at preschool.  It seems good ol' Granddaddy Al had given Sammy a piece of candy when Sammy stopped by the office before school to show off his OshKosh overalls and cowboy hat.  (It was dress like a farmer day at school.) Granddaddy slipped the piece of candy into the top pocket of Sammy's overalls and admits telling him, “Here's something you can eat later when you get a little hungry.” Sammy got hungry on the playground.  Evidently he was not supposed to be sneaking candy, especially when he was warned to put it up and then ate it anyway.

But these are misdemeanors compared to the tooth incident. Baby brother arrived on August 11 (number three in this sweet little family; yes, I am so proud and happy). It was time for the back-to- school party at the church preschool. Tired parents asked if we grandparents could take Sammy and Riley.

We were told to expect a water slide for the kids and lots of great desserts made by the teachers.  A water slide plus one Sammy Bowles turned out to spell trouble.

Background: My husband and I are the parents of three daughters. They were not wimps, but they didn't really push the envelope either. We never had any broken bones or even stitches. They did not run around the house throwing themselves onto couches and beds. They did not see what they could jump off or jump onto.

Sammy is all boy and he does all of the above. I should have been watching him like a zealous lifeguard that day. Instead, I zoned out for just a couple of minutes in the 100 degree heat. And suddenly I heard a thump followed by a wail.

It was Sammy. Somehow he had fallen from the top of the water slide into the wading pool. The water had cushioned his fall, but one little girl standing near him screamed, “His tooth is gone!”

OH. MY. GOD.

I ran to the side of the pool, picked up my poor little grandson who was bleeding profusely from his mouth and forced myself to look. Yes, one of his front teeth was indeed missing. Root and all. There was only a big gaping hole there now. 

I stuffed a beach towel in his mouth to staunch the bleeding. The other children were all looking through the wading pool for Sammy's tooth. They never found it, but the kiddie dentist, who was contacted that Sunday afternoon, said he didn't put baby teeth back in anyway. There was no fixing this Humpty Dumpty tooth.

So...my husband and I took home a child that had left with two front teeth and returned with only one. We couldn't say “I'm sorry” enough.

His parents took it well. His mom even snapped his picture once we cleaned up all the blood.

And Sammy. After he casually inspected himself in the mirror, he was ready to go play. And he was pretty excited that the tooth fairy was coming to see him. The worst grandparents in the world felt bad that the tooth fairy was coming three years early for a baby tooth that was somewhere at the bottom of a wading pool on a church playground.

Patsy Pridgen's minus-one-tooth-but-still-awesome grandson, Sammy.