I often like to say that my two little daughters won the “Mommy Lottery” when they got my wife as their mother. She exudes a patience, humor and understanding that I find both heartwarming and humbling. So with Mother’s Day just around the corner, I thought it would be appropriate to share a little anecdote about her ability to stay calm in a situation in which I probably would have fallen to pieces.

Orthodontics. Just that one word can send shivers down the spine of anyone who has had to deal with braces, retainers or any other forms of orthodontic paraphernalia. I realize it’s just another rite of passage for parents and kids alike. But that doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking when you’re watching your child submitting to some painful dental manipulation by a trained professional—one that you’re actually paying to do what they’re doing to your kid. In my daughter’s case, she had to have an upper-pallet extension device installed that pediatricorthodontists take to calling a “butterfly.” Once installed, a parent then has to periodically rotate a little knob at the center of the device to gradually expand the width of the upper-pallet. It’s like a shoe stretcher, but in the form of a medieval torture device that gets attached to your mouth. And if this weren’t depressing enough, my daughter also has to wear headgear for a minimum of twelve hours a day to correct the alignment of her upper-front teeth.

Needless to say, facilitating such oral manipulations is a challenging task. But my wife very bravely elected to take on that role. Unfortunately, she had no idea just how difficult it was going to be the first night.

In order to put the headgear on, you first have to attach two little rubber bands to hooks running along the upper gums near the front of the mouth. My wife managed to get the first rubber band connected with little difficulty. But when she started connecting the second one, our little girl started to scream bloody murder. For whatever reason, her gums near that hook were extremely sensitive—probably as a result of the “butterfly” having just been installed earlier in the day. So even the slightest contact with that spot brought on screams of pain. It got so bad that our daughter’s whole body started shaking and she began to nearly hyperventilate from being in a state of almost uncontrollable panic.

Yet throughout it all, my wife maintained a state of Zen-like calm. All she had to do was get that one little rubber band on the hook and it would no longer be in danger of touching that sensitive spot. But the gap between the hook and our daughter’s gums was a few micrometers too narrow. So it had to be forced in ever so slightly—not exactly an easy proposition considering the circumstances. On top of that, our daughter started blocking my wife’s attempts to move the rubber band away from the offending spot.

Five minutes passed. Then ten minutes. Then all at once, at just around the fifteen-minute mark, my wife pulled the rubber band forward just a tad and like magic, all was silent. The pain in our daughter’s mouth disappeared and the rubber band was finally hooked in place. From there, my wife very quickly connected the headgear and our daughter was perfectly content for the rest of the evening. She had no problem sleeping and even the process of removing the headgear and rubber bands the next morning went with nary a hiccup.

I still marvel at how my wife stayed calm throughout the entire episode and even kept her hands perfectly steady when handling the rubber bands and headgear. She never expressed frustration and she never gave up. As a result of such remarkable stoicism, my daughter didn’t show any trepidation when it came time to repeat the headgear ritual the following night or any night since.

Being a mother is the hardest job in the world. Being a great mother is an achievement worthy of a Nobel Prize. While I don’t have any rewards I can bestow, I do have the privilege of writing this column. So here’s to my wonderful wife. She’s a beacon of calm in the tempestuous ocean of emotion that we call our kids. I’m more fortunate than I can say to be on this voyage with her.