I’m a rescuer. Always have been.
Need food? I’ve got a lasagna with your name on it.
Need love? I’ve got hugs galore.
Need a story read to you? I’ve got a soft and squishy lap that was MADE for storytelling.
Need a bandage? I’ve got every color and size for you, and I’ll throw a Motrin in for good measure.
Need help with math? I’ll call My Captain for you. (Hey, I know my limitations.)
Need a lift? I’m on my way.
You get the picture.
So last night, when my daughter mentioned that she had a loose tooth that wouldn’t come out, my obvious first move was to reach my hand into her mouth and rip that puppy out. The faster, the better, in my opinion. Debating the pros and cons of letting it fall out on its own will only increase the anxiety about it. So I step in and get it done. That’s the way I roll.
Apparently, that is not the way she rolls.
So I’m standing there with her bloody baby tooth in my hand, and she is visibly, er, upset with me.
MOM! That hurt!
Yeah, ok, but it’s out.
But MOM! I wasn’t ready!
Ok. But it’s out.
Mom I can’t believe you did that!
Ok. But it’s out.
You can’t just go reaching your hand into people’s mouths like that! It’s so wrong!
Ok. But it’s out.
Sheesh.
I said I was a rescuer, not a listener.
Mama Boe 
I’m ready for that lasagna! 🙂
“You can’t just go reaching your hand into people’s mouth like that!” I love it! She’s right. That is so wrong. You’re right. The tooth is out. Now I know not to talk about a sore tooth around you!
You ARE a rescuer! I remember fondly the day you dropped off a pick-me-up gift bag when I was whining about the tee-many-martoonis I had the night before. Yup. It helped. A lot. 🙂