We lied to our daughter yesterday. It was something of a substantial lie. My wife and I told our daughter that somebody was going to break into our house at night, sneak into her room and take something from her.
So we’re not the first parents to continue to tradition of the Tooth Fairy, but I can’t help to wonder what is going on in the head of a six-year old girl awaiting a stranger’s presence to her bedroom. Shit, I always get weirded out when the cable guy or the oil man are scheduled to come by for maintenance. I clean the house a little. I bullet point some small talk. I set the TV station to a program that says, “I’m not that different than you, Mr. Service Man.” I’m most neurotic about having strangers in my house as I am about anything else. And here I am telling my daughter that she’s going to have a visitor in the middle of the night. Sleep tight, sweetie!
Abby finally lost her first tooth the other night after a month of pulling at it trying to catch up to the ‘big girls.” Abby has no patience for this life. She wants the world now and can’t wait for her little body to catch up. Oh the zeal for life, I can only hope she doesn’t forget us when she’s changing the world. For now we just wait.
My wife put her bed on Thursday night with a full mouth of teeth. Thirty minutes later Abby greeted my wife with a bloody little smile, looking like a little leprechaun that just got into a bar fight. My two girls then went on a search and rescue mission as the tooth was lost somewhere in the bed. They called me at work to let me know the news. I could literally hear the absence of her tooth as she talked.
“Daddy, guess what?” she was bursting with excitement giggling away with anticipation. “I lost my toof.” She was cracking up. Genuine and childlike laughter. Then I was cracking up. My wife too, in the background. Thank God for this girl, a gift who both reminds me and challenges me to be happy.
We waited a day before we invited the Tooth Fairy to come by. Abby voiced some concern over this as she was afraid the Tooth Fairy would come on the wrong night, so we had to hide the tooth….in my wife’s jewelry box…next to the pearls.
A day later my wife and Abby planted the tooth in a tissue and tucked it underneath her pillow at bedtime. Abby was long asleep when I got home from work. It was time to plant the money right now as we had plans on hitting the wine cabinet later. I didn’t want to risk this mission drunk. You know, walking into Abby’s room with my wine waddle on and cabernet lips tripping over American Girl dolls and getting caught stealing her tooth. I’d be doing the Tooth Fairy industry a great disservice.
So here was the question; how much money does the tooth fairy leave? We didn’t want to leave too much, nor not enough. How rich is this Tooth Fairy? How cheap are Abby’s parents?
One of our friends left a twenty when his daughter lost her first tooth. This is such a Dad thing to do. I admire him for it and if I had a spare fifty then I would’ve done him one better. Another friend sticks to one dollar per tooth. This is a simple equation, but it seems like the first tooth calls for something more monumental. When I was younger my mother pretty much emptied her pocketbook of change and us kids woke up with quarters and nickels stuck to our necks and foreheads.
My wife and I settled the negotiation at $6.50, as Abby is now six-and-half years old. So now the question was how to count it out. Keep it to coinage only? One five, one dollar and change? Or should we toss some singles her way make the quantity point.
Of course, I even posed the question, “Do we really want to set the trend of giving the girl singles. Laugh, but no dad wants his daughter pining for singles.
(Stripper question? If the lowest Euro bill denomination is a 5 than what happens at European strip clubs. Do guys just throw coinage at the dancers? Isn’t this dangerous? Couldn’t a coin get lost down there? Ok, maybe this question is better suited for another post.)
Anyway…I snuck into Abby’s room and found her half on her pillow. A beautiful thing, I thought as I had easy access to make the switch. First, I gently dug underneath the pillow for the tooth to no avail. Then I waved my entire arm under the pillow, still no tooth. Then I lifted my daughter’s sleep-heavy torso and raised her pillow from the bed.
Graceful, I know but still no tooth. I giggled a little, cursed a bunch and franticly fumbled through her covers. Finally in my fifth minute in her darkened room lit only by a dim hall light I found the tooth clenched in Abby’s hand. I slowly pried it out and replaced it with one dollar bill, spreading the rest of the dough under her pillow.
So now we just bought a tooth for $6.50. As young parents my wife and I had a guilt-fueled discussion as to what to do with Abby’s umbilical scab. As gross as it was it was a piece of our daughter, a piece of us. Eventually we came to our senses and tossed the disgusting thing.
But this is her tooth, her first tooth. Perhaps we’ll just pack it away with her other childhood memories. Or maybe I’ll just hang onto it, hope she becomes famous one day then sell the little bone on eBay.
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