My mom was the reigning tooth fairy extraordinaire. Each child had their own personalized experience, complete with names and special spots for their lost teeth. She wrote elaborate letters, changing her handwriting to add to the mystique. She did this for four kids, and it was truly impressive. Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit that talent.
The tooth fairy is a real hassle for me. I’m neither organized nor enthusiastic enough to keep the magic alive. Sure, I still embrace the whole Santa Claus saga, where he miraculously visits every home in the world in one night. That’s a fun fantasy. But the idea of a strange fairy sneaking into my child’s room at night to take a tooth that came from their germy mouth? Just why?
I did play along for my eldest son. We even used $2 bills because they were “magical” and only the tooth fairy had them. This charade lasted a while, but as more kids came along, something had to give.
My second son, now 11, lost a tooth recently and unceremoniously tossed it in the trash. His five-year-old sister looked appalled. “What about the tooth fairy?” she exclaimed. He froze, unsure whether to stay put or run. Being the clever kid that he is, he bolted, leaving me standing there, breathless. My daughter hasn’t lost any teeth yet, but many of her kindergarten classmates have, so here I am, back in tooth fairy turmoil.
I started rambling nonsensically about how the tooth fairy could find teeth in the trash if they were accidentally discarded and that she sometimes only collects teeth from little kids, which sounds downright creepy. Meanwhile, her brother would still find money under his pillow. What?!?
I have some of my oldest son’s teeth tucked away somewhere, though I can’t recall why. My mom has mine, and I’ve never once thought, “Let me see my old chompers, please.” Are we going to make a necklace or a Christmas ornament out of them? Or maybe craft one of those eerie dolls with real teeth? No chance, not happening.
So, what do I do now? My eldest is 13 and rarely acknowledges my existence these days and has no teeth left to lose, so he’s out. My second son tosses them straight into the garbage, as he should. And my third son, who is 8, might believe in a typical household, but he’s figured out that his mom is just a lazy bum and a fraud. I once gave him a $20 bill to compensate for a few missed tooth fairy visits. That was the day he connected the dots. He still believes in Santa, though, so at least there’s that.
But my 5-year-old… she’s going to make me start this whole ordeal all over again. Every day, I look at that adorable smile and realize it won’t look like that for long. She’ll proudly present one of those teeth to me as if it’s a nugget of gold. I’ll hold it, completely grossed out, and pretend to be excited, weaving a grand tale about the tooth fairy’s magical visit coming the next night.
Now the real question is: Would it be too strange for the tooth fairy to leave a note asking for change on a $10 bill under her pillow the following night? Just kidding… or am I?
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In summary, the tooth fairy might be a delightful tradition for some, but for me, it’s a never-ending hassle. As my youngest prepares to lose her first tooth, I face the prospect of starting this whole charade anew, wondering how to keep the magic alive without losing my sanity.