We’re sitting at the kitchen table. The kids are eating cereal and I’m sipping coffee. My littlest daughter is sticking her tongue into the gap where her two front teeth used to be. She went from sporting a double Nanny Mc Fee to a toothless wonder in a matter of hours, and was so excited to wake up to two dollars and a tiny, little note from the fairy.
Keep smiling. Xoxo, said the note.
Nailed that one, I think (giving myself a mental pat on the back). Simple yet effective tooth-fairying. BAM! That’s how it’s done. I think it’s safe to assume I’ve redeemed myself the fairy since the almost-fairy-casualty, a few months ago.
“Remember when you squashed the tooth fairy?” my little one asks her older sister. (Ok, so I assumed too quickly.)
“Oh ya!” says my middle girl, with a half-assed smile.
I too recall the tooth fairy squashing. That morning (that fateful morning) I’d woken-up to a sad little face, a few whimpers, and these words: “She didn’t come, Mom. She didn’t come…” My heart sank (shit!) as my eyes bolted open. (Turns out guilt works even better than coffee!)
“I’m sure she came! Go and look again, honey, and I’ll be right there!” Off she went to look, buying me mere seconds from which to locate some cash. I fumbled my way through the nightstand drawer but… nothing! Nothing useful, except a bottle of purple glitter glue. (Why was that in there?)
Armed with the glue, and an almost-plan, I zipped off to save my and the tooth fairy’s ass.
“Let me have a look,” I say lifting her pillow, and squeezing out glitter glue all in one motion.
“Wha… what’s this?” I ask, pointing to the gooey smear on her pillow case. “Could that be fairy dust? Did the fairy get stuck under your pillow, perhaps?” My eyes are wide– crazed with forced awe. She investigates, her little face looking even more upset. (I’m such a jerk!)
“But… it looks like guts. Did I squash the tooth fairy?” she asks.
“NO! That’ s not guts that just fairy dust! She’s clearly flown away so… I’m sure she’s ok! She just didn’t get a chance to leave any money. Maybe you almost saw her and she had to do a quick getaway?”
Baffled and unsure what to believe, she walked with me and her sisters downstairs for breakfast.
So, I guess guilt works better than coffee on the eyes but not so much on the brain power. I gave myself a mental kick in the ass and vowed to make this right!
Later that night, the tooth fairy came. This time she left money and a long note explaining how she’d gotten jammed between the pillow and the bed but was able to squeeze herself out only to discover that the sun was up. She’d panicked (worried that she might be seen) and forgot to leave the money. She also added, that she was absolutely fine– not hurt at all. And, just like that, all was well in the fairy world once more.
And all will stay well from now on, dammit! Therefore when a tooth gets lost, I’ve put a simple system in place to remind me not to forget. At the moment of tooth loss, (after the oohs and the awws, of course) I immediately go and take that glitter glue out of the nightstand and I put the bottle on my own pillow. It acts as a reminder that I have one last mom-duty to do, before bed. Sadly, I’m sometimes surprised to find the glue there.
And here I sit, having breakfast with my three little ladies; feeling grateful that instead of tears and guilt, I’ve started my day with toothless smiles and coffee.
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