Here we go again—another night without a visit from the tooth fairy, and I can barely contain my frustration. Honestly, how difficult is it for her to show up and leave a few coins under my daughter’s pillow? Is she juggling too many families? Maybe she’s moonlighting for a reality TV family? After all, I hear stories of kids receiving extravagant gifts like tablets or even horses, while my children are lucky to get a single dollar. If they’re really fortunate, they might score two!
This morning, I walked into my 7-year-old daughter’s room to find her looking utterly dejected. Her three siblings were huddled around her bed, their expressions solemn, as if they were mourning some great loss.
“What’s happening in here?” I exclaimed, trying to disperse the little mourners. “Come on, everyone! It’s a school day!”
“You must have kept her busy last night,” my daughter said dramatically, her tear-streaked face lifted towards me.
All eyes turned in my direction, and I scanned the room for clues about this sudden drama. Then I spotted the two-page letter she had written to the tooth fairy, still peeking out from under her pillow.
“Uh, I was up late…uh, cleaning!” I stammered. “Yeah, cleaning. And I thought I heard something at the back door, like a dog rummaging in the compost. But when I checked, there was nothing there. You know what? I think it was around midnight. That fairy is just too lazy or scared, you know? What a disappointment she is.” I nodded vigorously and began to retreat from the room.
“It’s alright, Mama. Just go to bed early tonight, okay?” she replied, trying to comfort me.
“Sure, I can do that! But you have to remind me, alright? And if she doesn’t come tonight, I’ll get you something special instead.”
That lazy fairy and her continuous failures are really starting to wear on me. I wonder where they find these fairies. Did she get kicked out of fairy school for failing at her other duties? Because she seems like a washed-up, second-rate fairy to me.
The first time she forgot to show up was for my son, who is my daughter’s twin. That morning, she consoled him, offering him her silver dollar because, in fairness, she had visited two days earlier. But come to think of it, there was a weekend when she collected four different teeth from three kids in our family while the Easter Bunny also made an appearance. We were away from home, and she still managed to leave behind a couple of Susan B. Anthonys, a Sacajawea coin, and even a rare two-dollar bill. Yet, no one ever remembers when she actually shows up.
I also couldn’t help but notice that both times she “got scared off,” the child involved had left a detailed letter under their pillow, complete with checkboxes and requests for a self-portrait. I mean, that’s quite the task for a fairy to handle without causing a ruckus, right?
My 5-year-old, the youngest, stood slightly apart, wiggling her loose teeth. She hasn’t lost any yet, but with those three loose ones, she’s almost a jack-o-lantern! I keep telling her she’s not allowed to lose them—because once that starts, I know our days of magical creatures sneaking into our home will be numbered. The thought of strangers in tights creeping down chimneys or flying in through locked doors kind of creeps me out, even if it is magical.
I’m convinced the tooth fairy will show up tonight, leaving a note with a lame excuse about being distracted by waking children, all written in her delicate, whimsical script. Glitter will probably be involved, along with an extra coin as a peace offering for her blunder. After all, that’s what she did last time.
And everyone will forgive her, of course. Money and glitter have a way of mending things. But I won’t be so easily swayed. I’ll still feel like punching that lazy fairy in her fragile little throat because there are only so many teeth to collect in this world, and she dropped the ball—again.
In sum, this ongoing saga of the tooth fairy continues to frustrate and amuse me. It’s a reminder of how fleeting these magical moments can be and how we, as parents, are left navigating the ups and downs of childhood wonder.