It went down, the other morning, like it goes down almost every time in the modern-day Mills household.
For the last three years.
Once upon a time, we were really good at this.
The sun dappled beyond the curtains and the early morning light danced a little in our room.
Enter stage left: Emerson. She traipsed into the bedroom, stomping a little, hanging her head in disappointment. A bit downtrodden.
At first, we were confused. And then, we remembered: a slow motion realization coming over us as if someone poured homemade slime on our heads, and we had to sit there and take it.
::insert inner monologue of guilt and a small expletive here::
She’d worked really hard on pulling her tooth the night before. It was a big deal for her, because she tends to be the particular one, but big brother gave her pointers, and we were so proud of her for going for it. She’d worked that tooth right out, and came downstairs with a single tear still streaming down her cheek – smiling proudly. She’d pushed through the pain and pulled it out herself. That in itself, is a feat. A really. Big. Deal.
And here I am, the terrible parent, staring at her the very next morning, blank-faced and confused. I don’t even know what day it is, let alone remember that a mythical creepo was supposed to stash some cash in her pillow. Because here’s where we’re clearly going with this: We forgot.
The night before, she’d tucked her tooth dutifully into her pillow and we tucked her in with hugs and kisses. And the blessed tooth fairy had failed to make an appearance.
Let’s just say this has happened a lot lately, with each tooth loss. So we’ve spent the last few incidents making up excuses for the tooth fairy in our house.
Said excuses are lame. Like, “Maybe you should have taken it out of the plastic bag, honey! She can’t sense them in the plastic bag!”
And “Tooth Fairies take sick days, too, buddy! No worries. She’ll come tonight!”
We’ve even pulled the switcharoo at one point, when we failed the second night in a row. I was on team recoup and distract, while Jamin went ninja, and literally folded the bill into a tiny fold so that we could all pretend the child was mistaken the first time around and missed the loot. {Did I just gaslight my child?}
In short, the tooth fairy may or may not have a small opioid problem {we totes heard she sells on the streets – why else would she take the teeth?!} and frankly, she’s off her game. So we set a separate alarm the following night and remembered to place the money in the pillow FORTHELOVEOFMETHUSELAH.
I feel that as parents, in the modern day society that is first world probs ‘Murica, we’re totally suckered into certain traditions. Can I say that without the group of angry mob torches coming my way? I’m raising my second mug of coffee in my delirium, and cheers-ing you. Because if you are also a parent, and have been one for more than few {let’s go with nine – plenty of time for the gloss to fade} years now, then you probably get what I’m saying. If I’d had the wherewithal to think beyond the moment in my baby haze at the age of 26, I would have sworn off some of these traditions from the get-go. Nipped ’em in the bud.
That would not have made me a bad parent.
But I was torn because it’s what you do. In my experience, you either participate or you’re THAT kid in preschool who tells the other kids all about Santa. {WHO DOES THAT? Oh yeah. The kid in my daughter’s preschool class. That’s who. And I’m the scary mafia mom who will body check a kid mid sentence if they spoil the magic.}
So, don’t think for a second that it’s lost on me that I totally did this to myself. But an exit strategy would have been nice.
Because while some traditions are fun, they’re mostly exhausting by the time you’re like, ten years in.
It is SO cute. SO ADORABLE when they’re four. I have zero regrets, obvi. But we’re to that point where we have actually played the game so well, three children and twelve years in, that the offspring are not catching on any time soon. From the Tooth Fairy to the Easter Bunny, y’all. Who made this stuff up? A marketing guru laughing all the way to the bank with our cold hard cash that we threw away at the Target dollar and seasonal section, all in the name of sentimentality and tradition. That’s who.
{AKA I want to strangle the inventor of the elves on the shelves – and my past self for buying into this peer pressure nonsense.}
catching fireflies
We have three children. The oldest will be thirteen in August {Hold me. No, really. I might pass out} and the youngest just turned nine. It only gets better from here. At least that’s what I’m telling myself, because we are haggardly throwing ourselves across the finish line from younger phases of childhood, {toddlers are for suckers because we’ve paid our dues ;}} and really relishing in these golden years. We’ve had a lot of fun in our family. We’ve made things magical. We’ve let them sleep in the middle while they’re little and one day we will miss stepping on legos. {Probably not} We’ve embraced each season and taken childhood to snippets of ridiculosity, and all for our own sake. {Hello, Handmade Hideaway – I’ll be the first to admit, that was totally for me.}
We celebrate milestones and holidays like any other well-rounded family. You won’t see us posting our Easter baskets to Facebook in a #humblebrag. We don’t really get carried away. {Except the occasional treehouse – Shhhh no judging}. But we’ve loved life. And I feel the need to preface here.
The oldest finally figured it out after a brief elf fiasco this past spring. On Kids’ YouTube of all places, he saw a video titled “Elf on the Shelf Ideas”. He got all the way to twelve, y’all. Apparently we’re too magical, and also really good liars. So I point blank asked him {he was home from school for a sick day} if he had ANYTHING ELSE HE’D LIKE TO ASK ME. WINK WINK. Anything at all?
And then I stared him down until he started to cry.
JK. Until he caught on. And just like that letter that went viral on Facebook a few years ago, he’s part of the magic, too. Because I knew it was a snowball effect from there, and the first rule of Santa club is: that you DO NOT talk about Santa club. We needed all this sorted out before the younger two got home.
how to make your own tooth fairy pillow.
So now we’re left with the younger two. I can’t decide if we passive aggressively keep forgetting until they catch on, or sit them down. No harm, no foul. I don’t think they’ll be seeing a therapist over this one. But do we say, “Hey, we need to tell you something. We’ve been lying to you for ten years?” Again, there isn’t a game plan for this. We bought into peer pressure and at what point does the bubble pop? Santa is bringing the kids a trip this year, {because experiences} and Santa will yet again get all the cred? We’re kinda over it, and yet I’ll still do stockings when they’re in college.
I’ve made my bed with magical tooth fairy pillows and elves on the shelves and all the celebrations in between. Now I get to wallow in it for a good three {?} more years. It’s also not lost on me what a ridiculous conundrum we now find ourselves in.
Photo courtesy of Country Living via Brian Woodcock
Do I drive to college and move the elf in their dorm room? Do I hold the secret until they’re married? Do I whisper feebly from my deathbed? Nary. I shall soak it up. I shall suck it up. I’ll carry the torch until it’s extinguished, and I’ll be real honest y’all… there will also be a small tear or two from me, but it’s totally okay.
I’ll leave you all with this: I’m pretty sure the Greatest Generation got jack squat when they lost their teeth. I’m pretty sure they were just happy to still have some. My great grandmother is in Ripley’s Believe It or Not for picking the most cotton on the hottest day of the year in Mississippi. I’m fairly certain all 4’11” of her didn’t pause to release colorful smoke into a field at a gender reveal brunch with her own instagram hashtag when she found out she was having my grandmother.
Perspective.
So hurray for the Tooth Fairy torch {and every other holiday that comes in between}. Hurray for parents who keep fighting the good fight, and even gaslighting their children when they forget. You’re doing it right.
And hurray for childhood.
Every phase. Even the bigger kid ones.
Because no regrets, and those are the very sweetest.
Hurray for the Tooth Fairy torch.
Bets says
Oh my gosh, yes, yes, yes, yes, YAAAASSSS!!!!
After endless forgetting, I finally had to tell my 9 year old that since there are SO many children in the world today, it’s good form to give the TF 2-3 nights to retrieve a tooth. I usually remember by night 2, so so far so good.
Fortunately, I saw that ELF thing coming and was able to dodge the ELF bullet completely. Whew!!
Hannah says
Hahaha! I’m on numbers 4 and 5 of 6!!! I started having to have my older two kids take over. I can’t remember to do anything past 8pm. And if those little ones are even barely falling asleep by then, they wake up at the first creak of the door. But I’m so glad this is a normal parenting thing and not just me. Guilt trip averted.
Jen says
Love this post!!! I have been in the trenches right there with you! I am well into middle age with a 16, 18, and 20 year old. To this day, my own mother will adamantly tell us that if we don’t believe, [whichever mythical gift giver] won’t come. NEVER ONCE did we have that “Here’s the truth” conversation. My own children have long ago figured this out with absolutely NO help from me because I want the magic to continue as well. They know. I know they know. They know I know they know. But there is something about NOT saying it out loud that helps us all still believe in the magic. So even though you may feel like you are putting in time now, wondering why you have done this to yourselves, I assure you that the payoffs are great. Adult children that still “believe” in magic? Yes, please! None of us need to lose that child-like wonder and appreciation–no matter how old we get.
Erin says
^ THIS!! I am 33 years old and I still believe in Santa. Of course I buy the presents on his behalf and fill the stockings on Christmas Eve, but it keeps the magic of Christmas morning alive.
I remember when I found out about Santa. I was snooping in my parents wardrobe hoping (but secretly not hoping) to find my Christmas presents when i found a guitar!! Cool!! Then on Christmas morning it was under the tree with a tag from Santa… I felt my heart drop. But I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t even know how… I must have been 9 or 10, and I think I was so shocked that words escaped me. But because none of my family knew that I had just had this epiphany they carried on like Santa had done this amazing thing. I *never* mentioned it. But what was great was the years after where I knew it was Mum and Dad and so they got credit, but it was secret credit. I didn’t say thank you to them, I said how amazing Santa was and smiled and *knew* that they loved me and wanted me to have magic in my life. It was that knowing they knew that I knew feeling that Jen has articulated so well above.
It wasn’t until I was 15 or 16 that I looked at my mum and rolled my eyes and pulled teenager at her over Christmas that Santa stopped being magical… and it was the worst Christmas ever. And the year after I was back on the magic train. The year I moved out of home I bought myself a Santa Stocking and started buying little things to put in it, and have done so ever since. If other people are going to be with me overnight on Christmas Eve then they get a stocking too, because that magic makes the day and the season better.
(the Easter Bunny stills comes to my house too 😉 )
And can I also say, that as an adult one of my favourite things is sitting on the floor with my Mum before bed on Christmas Eve as we each stuff stockings for the rest of the family with odds and ends trying to keep secrets from each other, and hide what everyone is getting. It’s a different kind of magic but it’s still magical.
E xx
ashley @ the handmade home says
This is so great. LOVE it. I swear I’m just going to keep going.
Amy says
These have all been my exact thoughts for so long!! And my oldest (of three) is also twelve (and a half) and I truly do not know if she’s figured it out yet. I give her long meaningful looks when the topic comes up, cuz I just want to get it over with! But so far, nothing. And have forgotten the tooth fairy so many times. Ugh. Thanks for the laugh and comraderie!!