"Hey Mom, I lost my tooth!" he shouted. Before I could fully process what he'd said, he dumped his bag of candy and his tooth into my hands and ran off to the bounce house.
"Gross!" I yelled, when I realized I had a wet tooth in my hand. All the kids around me laughed.
When he got home, Mark spent a good 10 minutes brushing the tooth to dislodge the chocolate. I gagged when I saw that, and kept on walking.
"Look how clean it is, Mom!" he called out to me, but I refused to go anywhere near.
"I don't want to see anything that came out of your body," I told him. "Ever."
"But it's just a tooth," he reasoned.
"Did it come out of your body?" I asked. He nodded, and I said, "Then I don't want to see it."
Moms are supposed to handle anything--it's hard to be a tough mom when you have a sensitive gag reflex.
Before bed, I asked Mark if he put the tooth under his pillow. He said yes, and I was glad I'd double-checked. (He once left a tooth which sat unclaimed for three days until he tearfully told me. I gently reminded him he's got to tell me so I can warn the Tooth Fairy.)
But I was surprised when he ran off to school the next morning without reporting any disappearing teeth or an influx of cash. In fact, I didn't hear anything until dinner that night.
"The Tooth Fairy didn't come last night," he moaned.
I was surprised to hear that.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Yes," he answered, still sad.
"Did you check?"
"Ye--um, no," he admitted.
"Then how do you know?" I asked. "Go check!"
He ran off to his room. Two seconds later, I heard him whoop, "Two bucks! All right!"
I just shook my head and thanked God for direct deposit. Because if the money doesn't come directly to him--God forbid there's a middle man--my son may never actually get a paycheck when he grows up.
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