The Tooth Fairy

Caleb lost a tooth earlier this month. Despite twisting it and tugging, it was one of those that had been hanging on for dear life for several days. I offered to pull it several times, but he would protest vehemently whenever I made that suggestion. Apparently, he coaxed it out during math class. Much blood and spit ensued, but by the end of the trip down the hall and back from the nurse’s office, the tooth was encased in a tiny tooth treasure chest to be safely kept until the tooth fairy’s visit that night.

Josh, Anna, Caleb and I snuggled up in bed Monday night to watch one of the Scooby Doo movies. Despite a half-hearted effort on my part to stay conscious during this quality mother-children bonding time, I succumbed to sweet sleep before Velma even found her first clue. A couple of hours later I roused enough to realize the room was dark, the television was off, and my sweet offspring had tucked themselves into their own beds. After squinting at the clock, I rolled over, blissful in the fact that I had four more hours of sleep to enjoy.

Mark and I woke up about half an hour later than usual the next morning, since it was Election Day and the schools were closed, so there were no busses to catch. After the obligatory, “How’d you sleep?” and “What’s going on today at work?” we rolled out of bed. Suddenly, a wave of dread overcame me.

“Did you put money under Caleb’s pillow?” I asked, knowing the answer but posing the question anyway.

A blank stare answered the apparently rhetorical question. Then, defensively, “I thought you did!”

“Wonderful,” I muttered, as I headed to the dresser top where Mark empties the change from his pockets every day. I started scavenging through the lint and gas receipts and came up with two quarters, a dime, and 17 pennies. I help out my coin-filled hand to Mark, but he shook his head. “That’s chintzy. He needs paper money. Have you got any dollar bills?”

Rolling my eyes, I headed downstairs to where I had left my purse. After rummaging through my wallet, I came back upstairs, slightly more panicked now. “Only a twenty!” I whispered loudly. “He’s seven. He’ll like 77 cents. He doesn’t know the value of money,” I argued. But Mark shook his head.

We were pathetic, standing there in the bedroom like two deer caught in headlights. Suddenly, a light bulb came on. “Anna!” I declared. “She has money!”

I tiptoed to her bedroom and peered in. She was awake, just not up yet. “Hey, can I borrow some money?” I asked casually. She nodded assent (she’s such a generous child), and gestured to where she kept her money. (Like I didn’t know.) I pulled out a couple of bucks and hustled back to the bedroom, victoriously waving them in the air. “Come on,” I whispered, and gestured for Mark to follow me.

We attempted to silently head down the hall to Caleb’s room. He was still in bed with his eyes shut. What a stroke of luck. I covertly reached my hand underneath his pillow, left the two dollars, and started to pull the treasure chest out. His head popped up. I stealthily folded my fingers around the tiny chest while Mark tried to divert his attention. Success. I casually clasped my hands together behind my back, hiding my treasure.

“Hey, what are you doing?” he asked, probably startled and a bit freaked out to find both his parents standing silently by his bed. Ignoring his question, I asked cheerfully, “Did the tooth fairy visit last night? Dad and I were curious to see what she left.” Still eyeing us suspiciously, he shook his head. “No, I just checked,” he answered.  “It’s still there.”

Always quick on my feet (yeah, right), I suggested in a voice way too bright and chipper for 7 a.m., “Why don’t you check again? She’s sneaky, you know.”

He gave me a funny look but, like a good son, lifted his pillow up. There were the two dollars. He furrowed his little eyebrows in confusion. He’s not dumb. There wasn’t any money there a minute ago, and now there was. He squinted his eyes and peered, first at me, then at Mark. “Did you put money there?” he asked. Clever child, that one.

“Why would I do that when that’s the tooth fairy’s job?” I asked, dodging the question so as not to outright lie to my child. He looked at us for a moment longer, then at the cold, hard cash in his hand. He shrugged his shoulders, climbed out of bed, and padded over to his piggy bank.

I shot Mark a smug look, and he muttered sarcastically, “You’re so smooth.”

Yeah, I know. I’m not perfect, and I probably won’t win the Mother of the Year Award, but it’s the effort that counts. Right?