Parenting
So, the Tooth Fairy forgot to show up again. Honestly, I was ready to throttle her till those tiny fairy wings quivered in fear. How hard can it be to swing by my house and drop a few coins under my daughter’s pillow? Is she juggling multiple families? Is she moonlighting for a reality TV crew? Because last I checked, each family has their own Tooth Fairy. That would explain why some kids wake up to an iPad or even a pony, while my kids are lucky to score a single dollar or, at best, two.
When I entered my 7-year-old daughter’s room this morning, her expression was one of utter despair. Her three siblings, all just a couple of years younger, loomed around her bedside like mourners at a wake, as if she were a beloved matriarch on her last day.
“What’s happening here?” I clapped my hands, hoping to disperse the little gathering. “Come on! It’s a school day!”
“You must have kept her up too late last night,” my daughter accused dramatically, lifting her sorrowful gaze to meet mine.
All eyes shifted to me, and I scanned the room, trying to decipher the situation. Then I spotted the two-page letter she had penned to the Tooth Fairy just last night, peeking out from beneath her pillow.
“What? I… I was up late last night! Cleaning! Yes, that’s it!” I stammered. “And I thought I heard something at the back door—probably just a dog rummaging through the compost! But when I checked, there was no one there. You know? It was around midnight, I believe. That lazy fairy! What a dud she is,” I grumbled, backing out of the room as I nodded in agreement with myself.
“It’s alright, Mama. Just make sure to go to bed early tonight, okay?” she said, her voice softening.
“Sure, sure. But remind me, alright? If she doesn’t show up tonight, I’ll make it up to you!”
I can’t believe this fairy and her lazy antics. I’m fed up with her negligence in performing the one job she has. Seriously, where do they even find these fairies? Did she fail at her woodland duties and get kicked out of Fairyland? Because she really seems like a washed-up has-been to me.
The first time she flaked out was for my son, the twin brother of my toothless daughter. That morning, she comforted him, offering her silver dollar. To her credit, she had visited just a couple of days prior—twins lose teeth in flurries.
Thinking back, there was that one weekend when she snagged four different teeth from three of my kids in just one night, and the Easter Bunny made an appearance too! We had been away from home, yet she still managed to deliver two Susan B. Anthonys, a Sacajawea coin, and even a two-dollar bill—not exactly common these days. But nobody remembers when the Tooth Fairy actually comes, do they?
I wanted to point out to my glum cluster of kids that the only times she’s “scared” and doesn’t show up have coincidentally been the nights they’ve sent her elaborate requests for feedback or even asked her to draw a self-portrait. I mean, that’s quite a lot for a fairy to pull off without waking anyone, right?
I noticed my youngest, a 5-year-old, standing slightly apart, gently wiggling her two loose teeth. She hasn’t lost any yet. With three teeth ready to go, she’s one step away from looking like a jack-o-lantern. I think she might be avoiding it.
I keep telling her she can’t lose her teeth—because once she starts, it signals the end of our magical nights filled with mysterious creatures sneaking in while we sleep, which always gives me the creeps. I mean, strangers in tights through our chimney or flying in through locked windows? Yikes.
I have a feeling she’ll make an appearance tonight. She’ll probably scribble an apology with some feeble excuse about being scared off by awake humans and falling asleep on a cloud, all written in her delicate, swirling handwriting. Maybe there will be glitter and perhaps an extra coin to smooth things over. That’s what she did last time.
And the kids will forgive her, because let’s face it—money and glitter have a magical way of fixing things. But I won’t forget this. I still want to punch that lazy fairy in the throat and shake her little fluttery wings off. There are only so many teeth to gather in this world, only so many chances to spread magic. And she has let us down—again.