It happened again—the Tooth Fairy didn’t show up, and it was hard not to feel a little irked. Seriously, is it really that difficult for a fairy to drop by and leave some coins under my daughter’s pillow? I can’t help but wonder if she’s juggling too many families at once, perhaps even moonlighting for someone else. You know, like those families that get extravagant gifts, while mine is lucky to see a couple of bucks.
When I entered my 7-year-old daughter’s room this morning, the atmosphere was somber. Her three siblings, all within two years of her age, formed a circle around her bed, looking as if they were mourning a great loss. “What’s going on here?” I clapped my hands to disperse the gathering. “Come on, it’s a school day!”
“You must have been up late last night,” my daughter said dramatically, her sad eyes locking onto mine.
All eyes turned toward me, and I scanned the room, trying to piece together what was happening. Then I noticed a two-page letter my daughter had written to the Tooth Fairy, still peeking out from beneath her pillow. “Uh, I was up late cleaning,” I stammered. “And I thought I heard something outside, like a dog in the compost! But when I checked, no one was there. You know, it was around midnight. That fairy must be a bit of a scaredy-cat, huh?” I nodded, backing out of the room.
“It’s okay, Mom. Just go to bed early tonight, alright?” she replied with a glimmer of hope.
“Sure, but you have to remind me!” I said. “If she doesn’t come tonight, I’ll get you something special instead.”
This lazy fairy business was getting old. I couldn’t help but think about the quality of these fairies. Did she flunk out of her woodland fairy duties and then get reassigned to tooth collection?
The first time the fairy forgot was for my son, her twin, who was comforted by his siblings that morning as they stood by my bedside, offering to share their silver dollar. In her defense, she had visited just two days prior. I recalled one weekend when she collected four teeth from three kids while we were out of town. She even left a rare two-dollar bill! But it seems no one remembers those occasions when she actually does show up.
And didn’t it seem odd that both times she “got scared away,” the child had left a detailed request under their pillow? It’s a hefty task to manage all that without making a sound.
My youngest, a 5-year-old, stood apart, nervously wiggling her loose teeth. She’s yet to lose any baby teeth and is just one more wiggle away from resembling a jack-o-lantern. I keep telling her to hold off on losing them because once she does, I know the magic days will start dwindling.
I’m hopeful she’ll arrive tonight, with some glittery excuse scribbled in her fairy handwriting and maybe an extra coin as compensation for her blunder. After all, that’s what she did last time. Everyone would forgive her, but deep down, I’d still want to shake my fist at that lazy fairy. There’s only so much magic to go around, and she missed her chance.
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In summary, the Tooth Fairy’s repeated absences have left me frustrated, especially when I consider the pressures of her role. As the days of magic dwindle, I can’t help but feel a little nostalgic for the simplicity of childhood wonder.