![]() That makes me sad,” my kid said, drooping sideways on the couch. She called us the next day to show off her new gap-toothed grin and a wadded up twenty. That GOAT high carried me until a few months later when my daughter’s best friend lost her first tooth. She was prepared for the wildly unpredictable inequities of the fairy financial system way before it could catch her off guard in the school cafeteria. She knew I loved her and wanted to celebrate with her. My child was willing to donate her imaginary money to someone who needed it more. “Will my fairy give a little extra to someone else who needs it?” Why should the Tooth Fairy get all the glory? Here’s the deal: I will match your dollars so you can pick out something special that’s also from me.” “But I’m the one who made them, brushed them twice a day for five years, and helped you yank that thing out. “I love that the Tooth Fairy wants to check out your gorgeous teeth while you’re asleep,” I said, ignoring the fact that she had no idea what more dollars even meant yet. “WHAT?” my kid lasered me with eyes the size of a church donation platter. I left a note for our Tooth Fairy that if she can swing two bucks for our kids, that’s plenty.” “I just want you to know there are a lot of tooth fairies out there making deliveries,” I told her. “I’m rich! I’m rich! I’m rich!” She tossed her cash in the air and did a little dance.Īfter she’d called both grandmas, two uncles, and an aunt to show off her new smile, I grabbed her up for a hug. The next morning my child ran screaming through the house with her money like a cartoon caricature of a 5 year old. But it was late at night, and ATMs don’t give out singles or $2 bills, so my husband and I dug through our wallets and coat pockets, eventually finding two dollars in the glove box of the car. I liked the idea of strange change, and the alliterative quality of two bucks for a tooth had a nice ring. ![]() Not a huge sum, but a far cry from my single quarter. A small stack of half dollars, a couple of $1 coins, or a $2 bill. ![]() My husband grew up the son of a lawyer in rural Idaho, and usually received “funny money” from his fairy. The good Tooth Fairy doesn’t even know you exist. Something small in me saw that and whispered, Dummy. I was ecstatic whenever the Tooth Fairy bothered to drop a whole quarter instead of two dimes and a nickel, until one girl in second grade flashed the fiver she’d gotten in the school cafeteria. Growing up, I regularly sprinkled cheese over my Top Ramen noodles because boxed Mac and Cheese was often too expensive for my single mother, an artist and musician making do on tips from waitressing gigs in southeast Alaska. Why were the Tooth Fairy, Santa, and Easter Bunny visits at my house so shitty compared to my classmates? (Sorry, Mom. I found myself briefly paralyzed by this completely predictable parenthood milestone, thrown back to an ongoing heartache from my childhood. (Turns out the national average is a little less than $4, but I didn’t know that then.) I preferred something in the middle, somewhere between a hand-written note that said “yay” and a fistful of bills. Replies ranged from $1-20, with the majority falling between $5-10. I asked Twitter the going rate for teeth these days and almost fell off the toilet. I had no cash, and my debit card had just expired. It was February 2021, and I hadn’t been inside a grocery store or a bank for a year (thank you, pandemic). “So, the Tooth Fairy comes tonight, right? Will she wake me up, or…?” Did I need to call the dentist?īut I had a more immediate problem when my daughter knocked on the bathroom door. Not only that, but the adult tooth underneath had already erupted behind the baby tooth. I hid in the bathroom and did a panicked Google: when do baby teeth start to fall out? Welp. ![]() I had no idea baby teeth could begin shedding so early. My daughter lost her first tooth weeks after her fifth birthday, much to my surprise. ![]()
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