By The Skin Of His Tooth

Cael, despite the tough exterior he likes to portray, is a bit of a wimp.  He is timid in water, least likely to try new foods, and cowers in fear when it's time to trim toenails.  He comes by it honestly, though, because his dad has a bit of a weak spot when it comes to cuts and pain, and has warned me several times that his parenting duties will suspend right when tasks like tooth pulling start.

Enter Mommy.  After birthing three kids, I've got this.

After waiting nearly seven years, all of Cael's teeth seem to be attempting a rapid escape from his mouth.  And yesterday, when one was literally hanging, he winced and asked me to simply pull it.  After all, there is no pain that cannot be overcome by the thought of a winged adult female sneaking into your room and removing your hidden bones and leaving you spare change.

So I pushed it.  I pulled it.  I thought hard about digging up some needle-nosed pliers and yanking it, but in the end, I couldn't do it either.  So Cael, in a very unCael-like fashion, twisted the sucker himself until it fell right off.

I was so happy for him.

I was proud of his bravery.

I had no idea that he wouldn't shut up about it until he went to bed last night.

Everywhere he went, we shared tales of his epic accomplishment, and whenever anything looked like it might not go his way, I was quickly reminded that it was his special day.  But it started to get a little weird when the conversation turned to the next tooth on his agenda and Graham piped in.

"I have loose teeth too, Mom!"

"Do you, Graham?"

"Yep.  And loose fingernails and loose hairs."

"Well, you don't get money for hair and nails, unfortunately."

"What else gets you money?  A toe?"

Before we started amputating digits, I diverted the attention to putting Cael's tooth under his pillow for fairy extraction.  But when Cael realized that the tooth would be taken away, he full-out freaked.

"I want the tooth!  I want to keep the tooth!  She can have MY hair and nails!"

As much as I'd love to attempt cleaning up that mess at midnight, we opted instead to pen a note to the fairy alerting her to Cael's predicament.


To the Tooth Faree:
Can I keep my tooth and get some monee or a toothbrosh?
Cael

The note was cute and all, but I really wanted that first tooth for the baby book, and I knew that if I let Cael keep that tiny tooth it would be only a matter of minutes before it was lost forever into the depths of the sofa or eaten by the dog.

So I did the only thing I could think of with my limited brain capacity so late at night-- I wrote a note back.  But the tooth "faree" wouldn't have my handwriting, and she wouldn't use the same paper, so I went on a scavenger hunt throughout the house for some paper that Cael hadn't seen before.  Once located, I cut a tooth shape and wrote a message back that I hoped would make us all happy.

I knew that Cael would wake up and come to me to verify that I did indeed have the tooth, and unless I wanted to answer a plethora of questions about my interaction with the creature, I'd need another note.

Before I knew it, my evening became dedicated to an elaborate hoax, and the steps needed to cover my tracks.  But when this morning came and Cael bounded into my room with his note, money, new electric toothbrush and beaming smile, it was worth it.  That was, of course, until Graham upped the ante.

"Mommy, what about a really big poop.  Can I get money for that?"

The tooth faree can't wait for next time.