Last week my son had a dentist appointment. He had a really loose tooth, so the dentist “helped” it come out and gave it to him in a little box. The Pastor warned the son, “Don’t lose that tooth or the tooth fairy won’t come.” But like most seven year-olds would do, he immediately lost the little box, and the tooth was gone.
After work, when I saw my guys at dinner, my son came running up to me crying.
“I lost my tooth,” he wailed, “and now the tooth fairy won’t come.”
Not knowing what The Pastor had told him, I assured him “It’s okay, tooth fairies have a way of knowing that a tooth has been lost, even if it’s not under your pillow.” By bed time, the poor kid was completely confused and climbed between his sheets not really knowing if he would find money under his pillow or not.
I hadn’t been sleeping well for about four or five nights prior to that one, so I did something rare and took a sleeping pill. As I was lying in bed, beginning to get extremely groggy, I asked The Pastor if he was going to stick to his guns or go ahead and put some money under the pillow. I knew his answer before he gave it. One thing I know about my husband is that despite his tough-guy exterior, he’s one humongous softie.
Here’s where the story gets sad and slightly embarrassing. Neither of us had any money. The only thing we could come up with was to borrow money out of my son’s own piggy bank and pay it back later. (So much for those Parent of the Year awards…) By this time I'm barely putting together a coherent sentence, but I know that he’s got it covered, so I let myself drift off to sleep. Dilemma solved…or so I thought.
The next morning, I awoke to my son standing beside the bed looking at me.
“Well, I guess the tooth fairy didn’t come.” he said as he climbed over me into the bed and crawled under the covers between The Pastor and I.
“Are you sure?” I asked him. I knew I was drugged the night before, but I had a distinct recollection that the plan was that The Pastor put a five dollar bill under his pillow. (Don’t even get me started on the price of a lost tooth these days!)
“Yes,” my son said, “I’m sure. But something else really strange happened last night.”
“Oh yeah, what?”
“Well, I found the five dollar bill that Granny gave me for my good report card under my pillow.” I snickered and poked The Pastor. “Honey, I’m pretty sure that money was from the tooth fairy.”
“No, Mom, it really was my report card money from Granny!”
“How do you know that?” I asked him.
“It still has the sticky note on it that says ‘Good job!! – Love, Granny’”
Sleeping pill or not, that’s the last time The Pastor will be responsible for the tooth fairy duties.