The Demise of the Tooth Fairy

Many years ago, before my 2nd born even HAD teeth, I bought 2 Tooth Fairy Kits. One pink set, one blue. They came with a little packet of fairy dust, a velveteen drawstring bag and a stack of notes from the tooth fairy printed on fairy stationary.

Both my kids, the oldest especially, have been “late bloomers” in the tooth loss department. He was the only kid in the 2nd grade with all his baby teeth.

He’s now in middle school and  STILL has a lot of teeth left to lose. I don’t know how many. Does anyone out there know how many teeth kids lose? Do I lose Good Mommy Points for not knowing this?

In the Tooth Fairy Kit, every note is a bit different. They all say how proud the Fairy is for their bravery in the face of tooth loss, how beautiful and well-cared for that particular tooth is, and what the fairy is going to do with the tooth. Some notes allude to the fact that this was an especially hard tooth to lose, or perhaps took a long time. There is always a reminder to continue to practice good dental hygiene.

When the Fairy first  started visiting our home, she signed all the notes “Moonbeam.”   Then, one weekend we were camping in Yosemite and my daughter lost a tooth (do I get Good Mommy Points for remembering to pack the Tooth Fairy Kit for vacation?), and so that note was signed “Awahnee.”   Teeth were also lost in Costa Rica, and though I don’t recall which particular Fairy signed the note, foreign currency was left.   When we relocated to Texas, the notes started being signed by “Buck Tooth” and more recently, just plain “Buck.”

Anyway…. my oldest has lost 2 teeth this past month. I think his mouth is getting sick and tired of those baby teeth squatters and is going to start evicting them in rapid order.

I dug out the Tooth Fairy notes from their top-secret hiding place, and there are only two notes left.

Note #1 was left under his pillow with the usual monetary compensation and I liberally sprinkled Fairy Dust all over Aidan. After all, only one visit to go, I might as well not skimp on the Fairy Dust.

Aidan showers every morning before school, so the Fairy Dust shouldn’t be a problem. Except that it sort of gets all over everything, and he’d just die, DIE, D-I-E I tell you, if he had to go to Big Bad Middle School with Fairy Dust twinkling from among his clothing and hair. He complained.   Repeatedly.

So, when the next tooth came out, I kinda rushed the Tooth Fairy ritual. It was the holiday season and I was tired.   No Fairy Dust and I forgot to sign the note “Buck” like usual. I didn’t even look at the note. Besides, I still had to hide the $%&* elf-on-the-shelf.

Aidan stomps down the stairs in the morning and thrusts the note under my nose. “Look at this!” he demands. I take the note and hold it farther from my 45-year old eyes, scanning it quickly just to make sure I didn’t accidentally put the Tooth Fairy Kit Instructions under his pillow or some other gross error.

“How nice! A note from the Tooth Fairy!” I say.

“Read that!” he points to the 2nd paragraph:“This diamond will have a special place in my tiara, the other fairies have chosen me to be Queen of the Fairy Ball” the note says.

“That doesn’t sound like BUCK!” he proclaims.

“Um…. it must not have been? See, son, there’s no signature. Must’ve been a substitute Fairy?”   He just glares at me.   “I think that maybe this is your last visit from the Tooth Fairy anyway, what do you think?”

He fixes me with that oh-so-superior middle-school glare and mumbles  “Whatever.”

Fairies. &%$# Elves. Bunnies. Fat men is red fur-trimmed suits.

Whatever, indeed.

When she’s not chauffeuring over-scheduled children or procrastinating about the housework, Pam can be found scratching her head in her garden, making a giant mess in her kitchen, channeling her inner redneck, or sneaking off for a bubble bath with a fat novel.   Her monotonous adventures are chronicled in painful detail here.

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