I had another Tooth Fairy Fail on the weekend. Little Miss Sunshine lost her second tooth ever and we had the usual Comedy of Errors dealing with the fallout. How is it that I can be so uberorganized that I start my Christmas shopping in February, yet I cannot remember to be the freakin’ Tooth Fairy? Sigh.
Even if I had remembered, there was going to be a problem, because she insisted on putting it under her pillow. With the other two, we convinced them that the Tooth Fairy prefers the easy access of a bedside table. Gal Smiley has taken that even farther, and introduced this new thing, learned from a friend in her class, where you leave the tooth in a glass of water in the bathroom, then in the morning the water has been magically tinted to be the “colour” of your personal tooth fairy’s wings. I have to admit I was rather bitter about the whole adding on of even more traditions in association with this ridiculous process of buying your way into being able to throw away your child’s gross bloody tooth, instead of finding them gathered years later in a special tin like some sort of serial killer’s trophy box. But now I see the beauty, because a cup in the bathroom is a lot easier to deal with in a rush at 6:30 in the morning when you wake up and realize you have forgotten, AGAIN. Tip: keep your food colouring in the medicine cabinet.
So anyway, the Little Miss was all into the pillow thing and could not be dissuaded, and furthermore, she wanted to put JUST THE TOOTH under there, and I had visions of myself trying to slip my hand under her pillow without waking her while groping around for a tiny white speck the size of a few grains of sand, and it just seemed like it was unlikely to end successfully. Eventually I convinced her that the tooth might get lost, so she should put it in a tiny plastic box specifically for this purpose, given to her by our dentist.
So the tooth went under the pillow in the orange plastic box, and I went and watched some Jeopardy and then went to bed, merrily forgetting all about it. Then, as has happened about 17 times in the past, I happily snuggled in the warm covers for three minutes after the alarm went off before remembering, and then flew out of bed softly swearing under my breath about the TOOTH FAIRY DAMMIT.
She was already up and playing in her room but we guessed that she had possibly forgotten all about it, so Sir Monkeypants and I swung into Mission Impossible mode. He sent her to the bathroom, and while she was trapped on the potty he asked her through the door what had happened with her tooth and she said she’d forgotten to check. SCORE. So I ran downstairs and got a toonie, ran upstairs and put the money under her pillow, found the orange box, freaked out for a minute because I could not open the box, STUPID PLASTIC CLASPS, and then finally got it open and by some miracle the tooth did NOT go flying across the room, so I slipped the tooth into my robe pocket and fled the scene.
Five seconds later she came out and found her money was all amazed and ran to show us, and we were like, WOW, that’s so cool! How did she do it? AMAZING.
I’m thinking I’ll just give the older two a flat $20 and we’ll call it even for all tooth-related incidents going forward. Do you think it’s bad parenting to tell the youngest that the tooth fairy has died, and has bequeathed her the same lump sum? Not at all, right?