Mommy Gossip

Wet. Shivering. Seven. Running full speed ahead, I crashed into a wave in the Pacific ocean that buckled my knees, knocking me flat on my sandy bum. Exhilaration set in as not only salt water poured out of my mouth, but blood as well, because that meant I had lost my top front tooth.

The two—the fall of my body and my tooth—as it turns out, were completely unrelated. I had wiggled all the wiggle room right out of that tooth. But... as most kids do, I wouldn't make that final tug—the twist or turn that would set it free from its secure space in my mouth. And yet, when it came out of its own free will, I was elated, thinking of fairies and pixie dust and pots of gold at the ends of rainbows, and all things magical. Fairies can do that to a young girl, you know! And, the Tooth Fairy was no different.

In my out-of-this-world state of mind, I began my note to said fairy. But, what started out as magical quickly turned matter of fact when I ended my short note with this statement: "Just in case you are wondering, I accept credit cards!"

My parents (I mean, the Tooth Fairy—hope I didn't ruin it for any of you) rewarded my "creativity" with a crisp $5 bill.


More than 20 years later—tonight, in fact—I watched as my son went through the same rollercoaster ride of emotion with his top front tooth. Should it stay or should it go? Until finally the tooth made its voice heard by going toward greener pastures. And I am glad it did, because in an instant make believe was alive and kicking in our home as Red Rover ran around half laughing, half crying and totally elated. Then, he posed for, perhaps, one of the worst pictures we have of him, which was difficult to take since he was singing "All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth!" No problem with bedtime for this one!

BTW: No credit cards for this Tooth Fairy!

I am participating at Wordful Wednesday and at Wordless Wednesday.

This summer, we went to an art exhibit at the local university. As we were leaving, my kids veered away from us, tempted by the beckoning elevator down the hall. I thought Leo the Ninja Turtle himself had appeared on the scene the way those two were screaming and jumping in excitement, their mouths watering in anticipation. I was in no mood to ride on a slow elevator, so I parked it on a nearby bench while daddy did some male bonding with the boys.

"I want to push the button," anxious 4-year-old yells out upon entering the silver box car.

"OK," daddy replies, "just push the top floor."

"What number goes to the top floor, dad?" son asks, searching the number next to each button.

"It's the highest number, son," dad explains.

"Dad?" questions the son, scratching his head with eyes squinted in an all-out search. "Where is it? I don't see google plex on here!"