The Tooth Fairy lets us down again

About a month ago, Mark lost his tooth. And then, somewhere out in the garage, he lost it again.

"I lost my tooth," he screeched.

"I know," I said. "You showed me."

"No," he said, more urgently. "I lost it. The bag it was in--I can't find it."

I just sighed. I knew it would turn up eventually, and yesterday, it finally did.

"I'm putting it under my pillow tonight," Mark told me.

"OK," I said.

He cleared his throat, then made sure I gave him eye contact. 

"I said, I'M PUTTING MY TOOTH UNDER MY PILLOW TONIGHT," he repeated. "So the Tooth Fairy knows." 

And then I sighed again. Man, the kid can't remember to pick his clothes up off the floor, but he remembers the ONE TIME the Tooth Fairy forgot to switch out his tooth for cash. For a week. (C'mon, maybe the Tooth Fairy was busy at work, trying to feed and clothe the little ingrate!)

Either way, that "incident" triggered a new policy wherein Mark has to tell me whenever he hides a tooth under his pillow. That way, I can summon the Tooth Fairy, so she won't forget him.

Which was exactly what he was doing now--notifying me. 

But Mark is no dummy. He paused, then asked me, "Um...does the Tooth Fairy have any money on her tonight?"

"How should I know?" I shrugged. Seriously, the kid's almost 13--he knows the deal, but he's not willing to let up on traditions that involve monetary rewards, no matter how unbelievable they are.

So I hugged him and tucked him in, and made a mental note to remind the Tooth Fairy to stop by tonight. I repeated the mental note approximately 573 times, and then promptly  fell asleep on the couch.

This morning, Mark reported that once again, the Tooth Fairy had slighted him.

"She didn't come," he said sadly from his room. "Again..."

Dammit! I thought. How many times is this gonna happen?? And how many more baby teeth does that dang kid have left??

"Are you sure?" I asked, stalling.

"She forgot," he said. I could hear the unspoken judgment in his tone.

I used my go-to Mom defense. "Did you feed the cats yet?" I asked, and when he shook his head, I got angry and said, "Well, what are you waiting for? GO!"

"OK, OK," he muttered. "Geez..."

And the moment he walked away, I hurried into the office, scrambling for whatever cash I could find to make up for that slacker Fairy. Luckily, there was an errant $5 bill stashed away, so I grabbed it. It was 2 1/2 times what the Tooth Fairy usually pays for a tooth, but this wasn't the time to quibble over prices.

I slipped in and out of Mark's room, then called out once again, "Are you SURE she didn't come? Last time you forgot to check."

I watched him walk into his room. He called out, "I didn't forget to ch--hey, she DID come!" He came out of the room waving the five bucks.

And so the day was saved. A little late, perhaps, and cutting it close, but saved none the less. 

I just hope he loses the rest of those dang baby teeth very soon. Because the Tooth Fairy is old and forgetful, and obviously needs to retire.

Mark vs. the Tooth Fairy

Mark was chomping on piñata candy at my nephew Johnny's birthday Saturday, when his wiggly molar popped out.

"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.

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.

Dr. Clown

Yesterday's big adventure was a trip to the dentist. Mark was thrilled about this (not!) and brushed and flossed his teeth for about 20 minutes prior to leaving.

"It won't help!" I yelled to him. "You can't cram for the dentist, you have to do that every day!"

I knew we were in for a long wait upon entering the waiting room. It was packed, with screaming kids running freely in every direction. There was a TV in each corner, but only one DVD worked at a time. While a movie played on one set, the DVD menu played music on the other. And just in case there wasn't enough background noise, the parents in the room were all speaking on their cell phones.

I checked in for Mark's appointment. The office staff scrambled to find his appointment, and I stared at a large sign that read, "An appointment is like a promise. It's meant to be kept."

There was a similar sign in the restroom. But apparently, promises have no time frame. They expected us to show up for our appointment, but they didn't promise to see us in a timely manner.

We waited in the noisy room for 42 minutes. I know this because I planned to leave at the 43 minute mark, but they called Mark in for his x-rays just as I stood to leave.

While Mark was in back, I watched kid after kid come out bloody and crying. The name "gentle dental" was not at all fitting!

Mark returned from the x-ray room with a new oversized pair of plastic vampire fangs. "Wook, Mom!" he drooled. "My teef are weally, weally white."

"They sure are," I agreed. "And very sharp!"

Mark watched T.V. and slurped on his new teeth for another 20 minutes, until I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to get back to work, and I didn't see them calling us any time soon. So I pulled the D card.

I told the receptionist that Mark has diabetes, and needed lunch soon. Both statements were true, though not necessarily related. (He DID need lunch--it was almost 1 o'clock!) But I knew it would get a reaction, and moments later, they whisked Mark off to his teeth cleaning.

Five minutes later, the dentist called me back to discuss Mark's teeth. And this is when the visit got even weirder.

The dentist was dressed in a white shirt, with dogs and cats all over it. He wore a a tie that was equally busy, and a gold toothbrush pinned to his pocket. His glasses were lime-green, and his pants a similar color. The pants had teeth and kids all over them. I couldn't tell if the dentist was wearing his pajamas, or if he was supposed to look like a clown. Either way, I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

He touched my shoulder in an affected manner, and I could almost hear his dentistry teacher telling him, "Make personal contact with the patients." He held up the x-rays of Mark's teeth, but I couldn't take my eyes off his wacky clothes.

"Mark's still got 12 baby teeth," he said, which seemed like a lot to me. "He'll lose them by age 11 or 12, and I told him that because of the recession, the tooth fairy's only leaving a quarter a tooth these days. So he's got three bucks to look forward to."

I stifled a laugh. Not even the tooth fairy was recession-proof!

He kept on talking, but my eyes drifted to another sign above his head, that read, "The tooth fairy dresses Dr. Brown." I looked back at his clothes and realized it had to be true. My opinion of the tooth fairy was rapidly changing.

Finally, the dentist stopped talking and gave me a fistfull of business cards (not sure why -- so I could hand them out to people with too much free time on their hands?). When he finally set us free, the receptionist looked at me expectantly, but I simply walked out. I'd waited 90 minutes for a set of x-rays and a five-minute teeth cleaning -- there was no way in hell I was making a return appointment!

And if she didn't like that...well, she can just talk to the tooth fairy about it!