So, my soon-to-be 7-year-old just lost his first tooth. Yes, I know that this passes the typical age, but Dr. Google told me that at least five other kids on the planet were also afflicted with delayed tooth liberation. So, it’s completely ok. Anyway, he was uber excited to get his Tooth Fairy money and actually wanted to go to bed at a decent hour – read, before midnight. Fantastic.
Of course, I’m trying to mentally go through my wallet to inventory my Tooth Fairy money and sending frantic ESP vibes to my hubby for him to do the same. Since the kids are in the room, this looks akin to rapid eye-widening stares with a tilt of the head to add drama.
So, my youngest and I get ready for bed and then he takes the “Tooth Fairy” pillow, with the wadded up napkin holding said tooth, barely shoved in the little pocket. For the next ten minutes, he re-positions the pillow eight times and cries once from sheer anxiety over the best possible location for the pillow. We finally agreed to set it on the nightstand and leave the light on to help guide the Tooth Fairy.
By 11:30 pm, I am texting my hubby to get his ass and the ass of our oldest in bed, asap; so that I can make the dreaded swap and finally go to sleep.
12:30 am. I am mentally rehearsing a conversation with the kids in which I reveal all of the fabrications that I have built their childhood on, once and for all.
Finally, I start to hear welcomed signs that the rest of the house is settling in for the night.
I make it to just before 1 am. Earlier, my hubby had thrown a dollar at me and in a panic, I had put it under my own pillow. Now, it wasn’t there. Fantastic. I finally found it towards the foot of my bed, under the covers. Whatever.
I complete the swap. Realize that the bill, my hubby gave me, was a $5. I don’t even care. I am too tired to think, but I have to get rid of the tooth.
So, I shove it under the mattress.