The Tooth Fairy

My dad wrote the best Tooth Fairy notes. In fact, it always seemed to be a bonus when the Tooth Fairy forgot to visit because that guaranteed a bona fide written communication from the Fairy Herself, complete with magical swirls and fancy jargon that only the truest of mythical tooth-loving creatures could conjure.

Unfortunately, I inherited neither my dad's note-composition skills nor the necessary penmanship. Try as I might, my swirls always come out lopsided and my cursive is jarring, giving the note the appearance of one written by a fifth grader experimenting with her non-dominant hand rather than a passable memo from the Fabled Madam herself.

Thus, when we forget - as we often always do - then we must employ other creative powers.

This week, Sarah lost both of her front lateral incisors. First of all, this left P and me really sweating because we know that she has inherited my natural toothlessness (we are both missing seven permanents), and we were terrified that she had been rendered gap-toothed far earlier than we'd hoped. I myself managed to keep those two baby teeth (and the two beside them) until my 30s... But *praise the Lord* her dentist confirmed for me yesterday that she does indeed have permanents for the chompers in question. (It's the next ones over that are AWOL. Cross your fingers, and don't you dare bump her in the mouth.)

Anyway, Tooth #1 fell out on Sunday. P helped her find a baggie and she dutifully wrote two notes to the Tooth Fairy: one requesting that the tooth be taken and the other illustrating where four coins may be left in its stead. I was not aware of this last bit; in fact, I was not aware of anything until P woke me up Monday morning with the frantic whisper, "We forgot! And she beat me waking up, so she knows!" I will try not to relate P's description of her disappointment; no need for us all to be in shameful tears this morning...

So I did what mothers around the world have done since the beginning of time, when we first created these wretched fictions to bring joy to our children: I jumped out of bed and started tearing through our closet in search of the gold dollar coins that our personal TF trades in. But to no avail; as it turns out, I have recently reorganized our closet, and now I can find Nothing. Especially in times of crisis.

P entered the room just as I was giving up hope and joined the fray, but all we could scrounge up was a small tin of Susan B. Anthony coins. Not as flashy as the gold ones, but better than nothing! Now for the next task: creative storytelling.

In the past, P has "helped" the kids look and miraculously "finds" the coin in the process, but this time, the bed had already been searched - and the tooth in its baggy alongside the two untouched notes were still all too accusingly in view. So he had done his best to console ("Maybe the Tooth Fairy takes Sunday off?") and continue with the other morning duties.

Meanwhile, my brain is churning out one harebrained scheme after another, absolutely refusing to give up on this. After all, I know we can't manage the prerequisite note to explain the day-late visit: Tooth Fairy HAS to have come on time.

And then God bless the kids' nasty sheets... for therein lay my answer: I would go up to change the sheets (a long overdue chore as it was), and then, behold the Miracle: The Coin that Could Not Be Found Earlier Has Been Found.

Y'all, it worked. Oh, that sweet little girl of mine, so hopeful and so ready to believe. I held all the balled up sheets in one arm and the coin in the other, screwed up my face in confusion and explained how I'd found this coin - was it Sarah's? Her face mirrored the confusion in mine for a millisecond before that melted away in the heat of pure joy - "It must've been from the Tooth Fairy!!! She didn't forget!! AND she let me keep my tooth!!!!!!!!!" [Meanwhile Luke is in the background, trying the claim the coin as his own: "I lost all of my coins from the Tooth Fairy, so it's probably one of mine...." Luckily his claim is quickly dispatched by the clear fact that this coin is SILVER while his were all gold.] Sarah, bless her, went on to concoct a whole backstory for the event, and our minor disaster was officially averted.

The Skeptic in my head attempts to chastise me for my Intentional Deception, and for capitalizing on the Innocence of my Own Child. But here's the thing: I can still see the look on her face - relief, joy, thrill - and all I can think is - this is Love. This is the "always believes" Love that Paul talks about. It's the kind that is able to discern the moments when the Law falls away in favor of a deeper Truth. Sarah, in the epitome of childlike faith, was able to understand and celebrate the expression of Love that the Tooth Fairy represents - the kind of love that makes parents go to absurd lengths to delight their children over trifles. She doesn't have to understand all the facts in order to receive the blessings that we choose to shower over her (in spite of our forgetfulness and failings). We do it because we love her, and we love to see her joy. And she knows that, in her childlike way, and she is not so foolish or proud as to choose mistrustful misery over the gladness of heart openly offered to her.

Could it be that God interacts with us in much the same way? Although we know that He is incapable of deception, we must still choose to trust Him - and accept His bountiful blessings - when we don't fully understand the facts, or when we are not let in on the entire story. This is hard for adults, terribly hard for me at times. And perhaps that's why it's so good, every so often, to see the delight in my children's faces; to learn from them what it is to enjoy a Father's gifts, receive these gifts as Love, and leave the cynicism to the grown-ups.
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