I woke in the middle of the night with a start.
It was one of those scenes from a movie where the person sits bolt upright, and has no idea why. In reality, it was more like 4:30 a.m. but for me, it may as well have been in the middle of the night. I’m one of those people who turns into an absolute useless grumpy psychopath if I fail to get my 9 hours for a few nights in a row, and I was already there. So I have no idea what spurred on such wakings. I’d settled back into the covers trying my best to drift back to sleep, when panic hit like a wave, and I remembered.
“Jamin!” I gripped his back with vice like determination as he sat bolt upright, half expecting an intruder to come bounding through the window from outside. “We forgot the tooth fairy!”
Because earlier that day, we’d been in the middle of a song, when I looked down mid high note and syllable at her mouth, exclaiming, “Where’s your tooth!?”
And in the place where Emerson’s {very} loose tooth had been sitting on the bottom of her mouth for some time, was a big, empty gap.
Of course we immediately stopped what we were doing and began the search. If any of you have experienced the missing tooth conundrum before, you know what that looks like.
I was basically a pro tracker from movies when they’re in the middle of a crisis situation, and someone comes out and says ‘I’m a tracker’. Whatever that means. It’s usually the equivalent to someone who looks at vague footprints and broken twigs while sniffing tree trunks a-la Daryl from The Walking Dead or Kate from Lost. Which also means you want to stick with that person because they probs won’t die. It’s a rule or something. I have no idea where someone acquires said tracking skillz, only that they’re really handy when dealing with polar bears, mystery smoke and dead people.
Except with teeth. Because they are equally important in my world.
I was this close to strapping myself to one of those contraptions with a magnifying glass and rotating around the house a-la Honey I Shrunk the Kids. She {and I} really wanted that tooth.
Did you have it at breakfast? Do you remember if you had it when you woke up? Do you know where you had it last? When each of these questions were answered with a ‘no’, we realized she must have swallowed it in her sleep.
Emerson isn’t a wiggler of teeth. She just complains about it, until it falls out. I try to wiggle it for her, and then she freaks out and runs away. Which is usually to my relief, because I have serious dental anxiety. So after a few moments of contemplating if it was bad that she swallowed said tooth and determining she must be okay {second child probs} we let it go.
It’s a tooth, not a priceless family heirloom- I have my limits on the whole poo handling conundrum in case you were wondering.
She was so concerned that the tooth fairy wouldn’t come, but I assured her that she would. We made a mental note, and moved on.
Only, we kind of forgot.
Suddenly, it felt was just like all those days in the month of December when we put out that $%&* elf. And we hate ourselves for succumbing to peer pressure and participating in such nonsense. Call us scrooges, and smother us with guilt, but resentment like no other usually hits when we realize what we have to do, sneaking like ninja weirdos through the house to relocate the dumb thing first thing in the morning.
All I want to do is bludgeon and burn the creepy thing in the fireplace so I can sleep late. Did that escalate quickly? Because it’s a direct reflection of my feelings on the matter based on years of pent up resentment. What crazy {brilliant entrepreneur} with too much time on their hands and no respect for survival {because that’s where we all are in December} parenting mode made up this tradition, anyway?
And more importantly, why the heck did I ever think it would be a good idea to add an additional relentless, guilt-driven chore at the craziest time of the year? Because wheeeeee 21st century parenting! Whoops guys, Gindy was partying a little hard last night with the barbies, and took a tumble in the fire. He’s being treated in the burn unit at the North Pole but his head was melted. Permanently.
Clearly, I’ve thought this through.
But I won’t traumatize my kiddos, and they love it. I believe in not backing out of something we started. So instead, I’ll give in to the whole shebang all over again, each year, which is ultimately my fault.
The irony is not lost on me.
Neither is the entire tragic comedy that is parenting.
So I have no idea why I even woke Jamin, other than the fact that misery loves company and I thought he might help me think of a quick fix to the tooth fairy. I have no idea why I was making it so complicated. I just felt like Emmy needed a legit explanation from the fairy herself. Which really says, If I’m going to panic, you can panic with me!
We have these great intentions around our house. I mean, it’s a rite of passage after all. We made one pillow for the oldest, and then I realized I kind of needed to do two more.
I was over it after that.
Tiny notes and sparkle dust, and leaving the fairy tinkle in the toilet may be taking it a smidgen beyond what I have the energy, stamina and sanity memory for. Thanks, no thanks stuff on Pinterest created by clever bloggers. It’s basically just a miracle if we can remember that they lost a tooth… because we’re total posers and we’ve had that awkward convo before, and then Jamin casually sauntered into their bedroom and threw the cash under a pillow for “later discovery” and “oh my goodness you must have missed it!”
Wheee.
Whatever works, people. Whatever works.
Trapped in a prison of our own making, we’re just trying to have fun while they’re young, right? All at the expense of my fading memory and sleep quality and fair consistency for each child.
We were determined to not forget again. Parents of the year.
So back to that moment in the bed, when we both sat up in a panic. We were all, For Narnia! And Teamwork! And Don’t let the flame die out! At least, I was. Jamin was a mumbling zombie.
And we stumbled around aimlessly for a moment, trying to figure out why we were even awake.
“Okay. She swallowed it, right? She’ll need a letter explaining this, basically so we don’t have to, or look suspicious,” I whispered as we shimmied to the homeschool room to compose something unsuspectingly swirly and self explanatory.
I sat down in the moonlight and carefully composed a note with swirly cryptic fairy writing, thanking her for the tooth. Jamin was still half asleep, swaying slightly over my head. He wasn’t coherent enough to ask me why I woke him, or why I was dragging him into misery with me, but simply grunted his approval at the letter. I’m still pretty sure his eyes weren’t even open. So I folded it carefully, and grabbing some cash, headed to her bedroom.
Next: locate the pillow. I mean, it would be more convincing if we had it placed in her official tooth fairy pillow, right? It would be easier if I made it a lot less complicated, right? Like this TF goes the extra mile for those who have proper dental hygiene or something else convincingly idiotic. But it was the same as the towel in our decapitated leg situation, because if I’d needed a pillow for guests, tooth fairy pillows would be all I could find. But for some reason, I couldn’t find her fairy pillow in my moment of need. That would be too easy while stumbling around in her dark bedroom.
And it was then that I froze, because I glanced down at her bed and realized her eyes were wide open. Staring at me.
Busted.
After freezing for a moment, and listening to Jamin hiss from the doorway, I dropped it like it was hot. I’m pretty sure I had rug burn on my cheek the next day, as I scrambled to flatten my entire body next to her bed. Looking back, I’m pretty impressed by my agility, the way my knees pop these days. Still got it.
Must be all those years of elf training.
When I heard her re-settle into the bed, I slowly eased my head over the edge again, and realized she’d rolled over. As gingerly as possible, I placed my carefully-crafted-at-4:30-in-the-a.m.-oh-so-convincing tooth fairy letter and moolah under her pillow. And then basically slithered out of the room like the grinch that I am, on my belly for fear of being detected.
We high fived each other, having no clue why this was such a big deal, or why it took two of us to deal with our first world probs. And went back to sleep.
The next morning, I was working when she waddled sleepily in to where I sat. I was feeling quite clever with myself, knowing she would be elated that the big TF officially wrote her a note this time, and that she didn’t have to have a tooth, despite her initial concerns.
Parenting win! Above and beyond! We’re doing it right! Cue the secret party over this small triumph, in which I was a little high on myself. Don’t Stop Believin’ was playing in my head. With confetti.
She handed me the swirly writing that looked a little-less-fancy in the light of a full blown morning. In my head last night, it was so pretty with jewel encrusted glitter feathers. And magical fairy sparkle. Today it just looked like I added a few extra swirls with a lame orange Crayola marker and I’m pretty sure some of it was smudged with Jamin’s drool.
“Mommy, why did you leave a note in my room?” She asked, mid yawn. She was totally unfazed.
I froze. And then decided to do what any remotely sane parent would do, and went for the totally logical, lie-to-her-face route.
I know. I’m basically a terrible person. And I can’t win for losing.
“Um, that’s an official tooth fairy letter,” I gave her in my best amazed-before-my-second-cup-of-coffee face. Her eyes widened and she read the note. Oh that delicate age when they’re this {} close to figuring it out, and you’re not sure if you should keep it going, or just for the love, come out with it already because you assumed too much.
So I made a diplomatic call in that moment, that we’ll wait til she has a few more out-right questions.
She’s only seven once. And totally homeschooled.
All was right and well in the world of teeth, until we ventured to the fair that weekend. I’d just hopped off a go-really-fast-I’m-too-old-for-this, merry-go-round-on-rhoids ride with Aiden, so I watched dutifully from the ground while I recovered from nausea. Emmy rode the scary pirate swing with some friends, and prayed it wouldn’t break.
Fair rides are held-together-with-a-peg scary. And yolo, suckas.
When she got off the ride, she asked to go to the potty. And there she was, proudly standing in front of the mirror showing me a new gap where her upper tooth once existed.
“What?!” I asked, excited for her. “What happened to it?”
“I swallowed it,” She said, shrugging it off. “That ride was so scary!”
That, or it hit some unsuspecting swing passenger in the head.
And the next morning, at 1:00 a.m. I sat bolt upright in the bed, again. Waking Jamin with a start, again. He knows where we keep the cash.
At least I remembered, again? Cue Wind Beneath My Wings.
Emmy found her toothy earnings, but then promptly wanted to know where her note was.
Long live the tooth fairy. My sanity. And my daughter’s digestive tract.
ErinY says
Haha! Too cute! And Emmy is a girl after my own heart. I remember Christmas morning when i was maybe 5 or 6, walking up to my mom while she was getting ready and asking why Santa’s handwriting looked exactly like hers! I’m pretty sure I’ll pay for that if I ever have kids some day…
Bets says
Funniest. Blog. Post. Ever.
OMG can I relate. Our family’s TF is so lame… she forgets all the time, or she runs out of dollar bills and change. And the magical swirly handwriting, yes!! One time (when I had only two children instead of three … somehow that makes a difference), I wrote the note in “fairy language symbols” using a gold leaf pen on a large oak leaf. Sometimes the TF doesn’t even have time for a note, in which case I tell the kids it’s all about supply and demand. If she has too many teeth in her inventory, she won’t go out to collect more. I tell them to wait a couple of days and try again! My 14-yr old informed me the other day that she STILL has a tooth that the TF never picked up… from four (?) years ago?!?!
Thanks for the great post and for making me feel so normal! xoxo Bets
ashley @ the handmade home says
BAHAHAHA Fairy language! The things we realize we have to carry through diligently when we start them… aka that STUPID elf. When Aiden was three, that idea was PRECIOUS! Three kids and 7 years later… or something. Maybe we’ve been doing it for less time, but it feels like TWO Millenniums!
Bets says
Ahhh… the elf. In a rare moment of clarity, I was able to see that potential disaster coming a mile away. I knew that elf would be like smoking cigarettes… If you don’t start, you never have to worry about stopping. I gave all family members (including aunts, uncles and distant cousins) clear instructions that the E.O.T.S. (elf on the shelf) was never to enter this house. My youngest is now 6, so I’m claiming victory on this front!
Beth Miller says
Hilarious! I forgot my daughters very FIRST tooth fairy experience bc I was out late at an NKOTB concert! She came into my room the next morning in tears bc the tooth fairy didn’t come. Panic. Think fast….Luckily she bought the idea that I probably had scared her off bc I got home so late. It was my fault. The tooth fairy will try again. She did come back that next night but not before I was scolded and instructed to please not scare her off again! I felt so bad!
And I got sick at the fair too this year! The combination of the cyclone and the tilt-a-Whirl back to back made this normally daredevil ride junkie go green. Yay for getting older.
ashley @ the handmade home says
Oh, but those tears were technically worth it because JORDAN KNIGHT! PLEASE DON’T GO GIIIIRRRRRLLLLLLLLL! I’m dying to see them in concert! And yay for getting older and sick on fair rides! ;}
jamie z. says
lol that was EPIC!! gold stars for you 🙂
no doubt this is gonna be us in a very short amount of time. dear daughter just turned 5!! eek
Jen says
Loved this post! Alas, my youngest (now 13) just lost his last tooth…and I still played toothfairy. He knows. I know he knows, but still. And now it is bittersweet as yet another milestone of childhood has been checked off the list. They grow up so fast. And that is the reason that every maddening, time consuming tradition you started when they are little is totally worth it. They will be the things your kids remember and know you cared enough to make their childhood wonderful. My mother to this very day (and I’m, ahem, 44) has never said that Santa and his cohorts aren’t real, and I love her for it!