Ah, the infamous tooth fairy strikes again—or, rather, doesn’t. This time, I felt an overwhelming urge to give her a piece of my mind. I mean, really, how hard is it to swing by and leave some coins under my daughter’s pillow? Is she juggling fairy duties for too many families? Is she moonlighting as a fairy for the Kardashians? Last I checked, each family was supposed to have their own tooth fairy, which would explain why some kids wake up to shiny new gadgets, while my kids are left with a measly dollar or two at best.
This morning, when I entered my 7-year-old daughter Mia’s room, her expression was utterly heart-wrenching. Her three siblings, all within two years of her age, stood around her bed, looking like mourners at a funeral, their hopes pinned on her lost tooth.
“What’s happening here?” I clapped my hands to disperse the crowd. “Come on, it’s a school day!”
“You must have stayed up too late last night,” Mia accused dramatically, her sad eyes searching mine.
All eyes turned to me, and I quickly scanned the room for clues. That’s when I spotted the two-page letter she had penned to the tooth fairy, still sticking out from beneath her pillow.
“What? Um, I was up late cleaning. Yeah, that’s it,” I stammered. “And I thought I heard something at the back door—maybe a raccoon rummaging through the compost? But when I checked, no one was there. That fairy must be a total scaredy-cat. Seriously, she’s the worst!” I nodded fervently, inching back toward the door.
“It’s okay, Mom. Just make sure you get to bed early tonight.”
“Right, right. But you have to remind me, okay? And if she doesn’t come tonight, I promise I’ll get you something special.”
This tooth fairy really tests my patience. I’m done with her lackluster performance and her one simple job. Where do they even find these fairies? Did she flunk out of fairy school and now just haphazardly shows up? Maybe she’s got a history of bad luck in the fairy realm. It’s frustrating.
The first time she forgot to stop by was for my son, Leo, who is Mia’s twin. That morning, he was reassured by the tooth fairy herself, offering to share her silver dollar. In her defense, she had just visited two days earlier.
Now that I think about it, there was that one weekend when she managed to collect four teeth from three of my kids, all while the Easter Bunny made an appearance, and we weren’t even home! Yet, no one seems to remember the times she actually shows up.
Of course, I couldn’t help but notice that both times she skipped out, Mia had left a detailed note complete with a questionnaire and a request for a self-portrait. That’s quite a lot for a fairy to handle in the middle of the night, wouldn’t you agree?
My eyes wandered to my youngest, 5-year-old Zoe, who stood off to the side, nervously wiggling her bottom two teeth. She hasn’t lost any yet, but with three loose teeth, she’s on the brink of looking quite silly. I keep telling her to hold off! I dread the day when the magic of nighttime visitors fades away, and we’re left with the mundane reality of life.
I’m convinced the fairy will make it up to us tonight. She’ll scribble a half-hearted apology in her whimsical handwriting, likely accompanied by some glitter and, maybe, an extra coin as compensation for her absence. That’s what she did last time, after all.
And while my kids might forgive her, I know I’ll still be harboring that desire to give her a good shake. With so few teeth to collect in this world, she really blew it once again.
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