Tooth Fairy, by the Skin of my Teeth

I’m rehearsing for my role as the Tooth Fairy, and I believe it’s my most important role to date.
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It took the third tooth from my first daughter to firmly root the longevity of my performance.

I have three daughters. Wow.  That’s a lot of teeth.

A bit after supper, it dangled on lip’s edge.  Little and littlest sister looked on, Daddy had cold water’s rinse ready.  No tears this time, unlike before, only a bit of blood mixed with wonder of fairy travels.

Of course, middle sister Lucy was left out of her sister’s super-hero-equivalent impending encounter.  Since they share a room, I had to make sure one wouldn’t wait up to *meet* the Tooth Fairy.  I’d overheard at door’s edge during the last lost tooth questions, speculations and tidbits of tales overheard from friends on playgrounds, in classrooms.

Will the Tooth Fairy know who I am if I haven’t lost a tooth yet?  I wish I lost a tooth.

The creatively rambling part of my brain spoke of a cell phone carrying fairy that would carefully examine the nearby sleeping little sister’s mouth.  Upon finding lovely, sparkly white teeth the Tooth Fairy would call back to her fairy island

> It’s true!  Everyone special lives on an island, Mama!

to ready the plot. I spoke of tiny gardens the fairies create,

> Ahh, Mama, you mean like worker bees in a hive?  She has worker fairies?  Cool.

above each flower bed dangles a hand-carved sign bearing the little girl or little boy’s name the teeth came from.  Each tooth carried back, planted like a seed, sprouts the most luscious, unique plant.

It’s those fallen flower petals which blow in the breeze that become the fairy dust, delivered on pillow’s edge.

It was just enough fantasy to captivate the toothless.

Just enough involvement to make the one with the mouth full of sturdy baby teeth feel important.  She listened, eyes wide gripping her toothbrush with silent vows of exceptional tooth care.

Sometimes nighttime is a struggle with footie pajamas, just one more bedtime story, pleeeeease, and searching for a missing bedtime blankie.  Tonight it was a struggle of celebrating another tooth lost and another step forward in growth alongside a sister, not quite there yet but not left out either.

I’m off to shine pocket change and fetch a jar of glitter.  Cheers to the surprises that await in our dreams and under our pillows.

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What's Your Tooth Fairy Like?

My oldest lost his first tooth a year ago: front and center. The tooth fairy left him a dollar under his pillow. I admit it, it seemed a little rich to me. A whole dollar? How many teeth is he going to lose again?