The toof

Mark's obsessed with his teeth, and how firmly planted they are in his gums. The second he discovers one is even the slightest bit loose, he obsesses over it like a hound on a fox hunt.

I've spent the last week repeating the phrase "Get your hands out of your mouth" ad nauseum. When I tired of that, I simply swatted his hand out and gave him the look, and his response was always the same.

"What?" he'd ask, raising up his hands. "What am I doing?"

"Stop wiggling your tooth," I'd reply, absent-mindedly. Then we'd both sigh and walk away.

I finally figured out why he's so obsessed about it--the reasons are purely financial. He's thinking about the cold, hard cash he's gonna get when it finally does fall out.

"How muss do you tink da toof fairy is gonna weave me?" he asked, hand firmly planted in his mouth.

I know he doesn't still believe in the tooth fairy, but he knows better than to admit it out loud. In our house, doubting the traditional gift-bearing oddities (cash-carrying/tooth-stealing fairies, giant invisible chocolate-laden rabbits, jolly old elves) pretty much ensures he will miss out on the bountiful gifts they deliver.

"I dunno," I answered. "Probably the same as she always does." Meaning: Don't get your hopes up. The tooth fairy, while dependable, has never been ridiculously overgenerous at our house. Mark's regaled me with dreamy tales of $20 bills ($20 PER TOOTH!) but I think the going rate at our house is a more acceptable buck a tooth.

But he wiggled and wiggled and wiggled, and that tooth was near to coming out. He was tugging at it before bed so much that I implored him to stop, lest he swallow it in his sleep.

That stopped him cold. "Can that really happen?" he asked.

I reminded him that he'd lost a tooth in a pool before--when he wasn't even swimming! So yes, with this kid and his teeth, anything's possible.

He went to bed, but didn't stay in for long. He must've been working at that tooth furiously, because an hour later, he emerged from his room with a small white tooth and a big bloodstain on his shirt.

He feigned sleepiness and remarked casually, "Oh, my tooth fell out." I wouldn't say "fell" was an accurate description, but I congratulated him and lavished all the the motherly praise and excitement a lost tooth merits. He beamed, and went back to bed, a small hole in his smile, and the tooth in a plastic baggie, destined for a spot under his pillow.

When I woke up later to check his blood sugar, I rooted around under the pillow. And suddenly, the boy who sleeps through everything lifted his sleepy head, checking to see if I was the tooth fairy. Caught!

Luckily, he was asleep enough that he accepted my answer. "Just making sure you put your tooth here," I told him. "It's over on the bookcase," he said, then drifted back to sleep.

Good to know...I did the ol' switcheroo, and went back to bed.

Come morning, I was the one who bounded out of bed. "Did she come?" I asked, excitedly. "How much did she leave you?"

"I dunno," Mark said, heading off to his breakfast. "She probably only left me a quarter."

Offended for her, and a little perturbed for myself, I said, "Well, why don't you check?" He was awfully blasé for someone who'd been spending the money in his head last night.

But he didn't check. And now, two days later, he still hasn't. I can't believe that kid! He actually went to sleep last night with a buck under his pillow, and a shrug, telling me he was too lazy to lift his head from the pillow long enough to retrieve the cash underneath.

Some days I just don't get that kid...but it's okay. Because he doesn't realize that today is housecleaning day. And the housekeeper that makes his bed today will earn herself a little bonus. A one-dollar bill all to herself!

And she didn't even have to lose a tooth to get it.