The tooth fairy got busted at my house last week. Our youngest daughter called him out, tooth in hand.
“Dad, why are you taking my tooth?”
“I’m not honey, I was just checking on you.”
“Dad, I SAW you take my tooth.”
“Um, yea, I took your tooth. Go back to sleep.”
Go back to sleep? Does everyone know what that means? It means he’s leaving for the train station and when she wakes up I will have to clean up his mess. It also means the tooth fairy is getting his ass kicked.
As expected, when I woke her up for school she was full of questions. First she wanted to know about the Tooth Fairy. Then, as reality settled in, the dreaded question.
“What about Santa?”
I tried everything I could to avoid it, to put her off until . . . never. She wasn’t falling for it. She wanted answers and she wanted them now. So we had “the talk”, and it went surprisingly well. She was amazed that her dad and I had been the source of all her goodies for so many years, especially her bearded dragon. There were a few tears, all of them mine, and then it was over.
Over. No more tooth fairy. Or Santa. Or Easter Bunny. My youngest daughter had crossed over and that little piece of my kids’ childhood was over. Suddenly I felt very grateful that my husband had run like a deer in the headlights. If he were braver I would’ve missed this unexpected rite of passage, this moment when my babies suddenly became young girls. So I took it easy on the tooth fairy that night. I told him it was time to hang up his wings and get ready for the next phase: DATING.