Retired from the Tooth Fairy Army!

When I became a mom, I enlisted in The Tooth Fairy Army. I
took the oath to defend the integrity and legend of Her Mini-highness. I’d a
nine year headstart to practice on my daughter before I added my son to the
family. As each tooth fell out, I improved on how and where it was placed so I
could exchange it for a coin. I was developing a stealthy pillow op tactic. In
the morning, a quarter impressed her unless her friends disclosed their tooth
fairy left TWO quarters. So, as each tooth grew larger, I raised the booty to
keep my Head-of-Ivory-State happy. Eventually, my daughter traded earning
income from babysitting rather than selling the last of her molars.

As my son started losing his baby teeth, I’d earned military
ribbons for meritorious service during my daughter’s Tooth War. I’d never
forgotten to retrieve a tooth, proper restitution for the lost tooth and my
pajamas were impeccable. I’m not sure if my attention to my pillow post had
waned due to him being a second child or maybe my age? But, I will never forget
the time I went AWOL.

“Mom, look! I lost another tooth!” he said, holding it up. I
saw quarters in his eyes. “I’m going to go put it under my pillow so I don’t
forget. I hope She doesn’t forget.”

“Make sure you put it where it won’t fall under the bed,” I
said. “Do you want a Ziploc or something?”

“Can She get it out?” he asked. “You told me to never put my
head in a plastic bag.” I stuffed a chuckle.

“Sure, She’s got this job down,” I said. We finished out the
Sunday night, getting ready for another school week. I went to bed and
abandoned my post. The tooth would still be there in the morning.

Monday came and went, no mention of the tooth. Nor did I
remember it’s still under the pillow. On Tuesday, before my son left for the
bus stop, he popped his head into the kitchen.

“Mom, that Tooth Fairy is slack,” he informed. My mind
snapped to attention. OMG. I’d left the quarters on my nightstand for two
nights! I was a single parent household. My eight year old isn’t going to care
about that because he didn’t know I was a Captain in the Tooth Fairy Army.

“You know what? If She hasn’t come, I’ll bet there’s a good
reason,” I fudged. “Why don’t we give Her one more night?” With a grin, he left
for the bus stop.

At work, I pulled out my razor fine permanent marker,
created a note the size of a postal stamp and wrote in my tiniest Tinker Bell
letters: “Dear Seth, I’m sorry it took me
so long. There was a really big Palmetto bug on the porch. I left a little
extra.” The Tooth Fairy. That night, the Tooth Fairy delivered.

Wednesday morning before he left for the bus stop, he ran
into the kitchen. “Mom, look what the Tooth Fairy left! A whole dollar and a note!”

“See!” I said, detecting he knew it was from me.

“Well, I hope She’s late again. I don’t want any more
stinking quarters,” he said, shutting the front door.