Navigating the whimsical inconsistencies of the fairy financial landscape can be challenging for both kids and parents.
It was a surprise when my daughter lost her first tooth just weeks after turning five. I hadn’t realized baby teeth could start falling out so early! A quick bathroom Google search revealed that most children lose their first tooth around 6-7 years old. So, my daughter was ahead of the curve. To make matters even more bewildering, the adult tooth behind it was already making its debut. Should I contact the dentist?
But first, I had to address my daughter’s eager knock on the bathroom door. “So, the Tooth Fairy comes tonight, right? Will she wake me up?”
It was February 2021, and I hadn’t set foot in a grocery store or bank for a year—thank you, pandemic! I had no cash, and my debit card was expired.
I turned to Twitter to find out the current going rate for teeth. The responses ranged from $1 to $20, with most hovering between $5 and $10. I preferred something in the middle, a nice balance between a heartfelt note that said “yay” and a handful of cash.
Suddenly, I was paralyzed by this typical parenting moment, my childhood memories surfacing. Why did our Tooth Fairy, Santa, and Easter Bunny seem so much less generous than those of my classmates? (Sorry, Mom. I know you tried your best.) Growing up, I often had to sprinkle cheese on my Top Ramen because boxed Mac and Cheese was a luxury my single mother, an artist and musician, couldn’t always afford. I was thrilled when the Tooth Fairy occasionally left a whole quarter instead of just two dimes and a nickel, but my heart sank when a classmate casually flaunted the five-dollar bill she received at lunch. A small voice in my head whispered, “The Tooth Fairy doesn’t even know you’re alive.”
My husband, on the other hand, grew up in a different world. The son of a lawyer in rural Idaho, he often received “funny money” from his Tooth Fairy—a mix of half dollars, $1 coins, and $2 bills. Quite a contrast to my solitary quarter.
I liked the idea of quirky change, and the alliteration of two bucks for a tooth was appealing. But it was late, and ATMs don’t dispense singles or $2 bills. After rummaging through our wallets and pockets, we found two dollars in the car’s glove box. What a relief!
The next morning, my daughter burst into the house, gleefully shouting, “I’m rich! I’m rich!” She danced around, tossing her cash in the air.
After calling both grandmas, two uncles, and an aunt to show off her new smile, I scooped her up for a hug. “Just so you know, there are many Tooth Fairies out there, and some give more than others. I told ours that if she could manage two bucks for our kids, that’s plenty.”
“What?” she said, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I could’ve gotten more?”
“I love that the Tooth Fairy checks out your beautiful teeth while you sleep,” I replied, ignoring the fact that she didn’t yet grasp the value of money. “But I helped create those teeth, brushed them twice a day for five years, and was there for the big tooth pull. Why should the Tooth Fairy get all the credit? Here’s the deal: I’ll match what you got so you can buy something special from me.”
She pondered this for a moment. “Will my fairy give a little extra to someone else who needs it?”
I nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “Deal.”
Internally, I cheered—my kid was willing to share her imaginary money with someone in need. She understood my love for her and wanted to celebrate together. She was already adapting to the unpredictable nature of the fairy financial system before it could surprise her in the school cafeteria.
That feeling of triumph lasted until her best friend lost her first tooth a few months later. The next day, she called us to show off her gap-toothed smile and a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.
“Oh, wow. That makes me sad,” my daughter said, slumping on the couch.
I could hear her friend’s mother sighing in the background. “Our Tooth Fairy couldn’t make it to the bank last night.” Ouch.
You can imagine the tears that followed. “Sometimes things feel really unfair,” I said, recalling how comforting it would’ve been to hear that when I was a child. “Do you want me to talk to your fairy?”
She shook her head. “My extra went to my best friend, and she really needs it. I’m just sad.”
We’ve navigated this Tooth Fairy adventure three times now. I keep a stash of singles in an envelope for emergencies, and our Tooth Fairy has become quite skilled at writing notes with her non-dominant hand.
My six-year-old asks profound questions about life. Why did the pandemic affect her childhood instead of mine? Why aren’t other kids still wearing masks to protect their younger siblings? But she doesn’t question why some children seem to get more from the fairies. Instead, she asks, “Is my extra going to someone who needs it?” And that’s the kind of magic only her very own Tooth Fairy can provide.
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Summary:
Explaining the Tooth Fairy’s unpredictable generosity to children can be a tricky task. A mother navigates this challenge with her daughter after her first tooth falls out. As they discuss the varying amounts children receive from the Tooth Fairy, they explore themes of fairness, generosity, and empathy. The mother encourages her daughter to consider sharing her bounty with those in need, fostering a sense of compassion and understanding early on.