Waiting for the tooth fairy

Stephen lost his first tooth on Monday. We noticed it had gotten really loose over the weekend in Branson, and when we got home, Monte got a bit of string around it and, after three tries, got it out. It was great. Our six year old Kindergartner became a man. Or at least he joined the lost tooth club.

And then that night we forgot to put it under Stephen's pillow.

Utterly completely totally forgot. When Mason FINALLY lost his first tooth at age 8 last summer, you'd have thought we were celebrating his acceptance into Harvard or something. Speeches were made, backs were patted and a huge deal was made out of putting it under his pillow that night. The surprises left the next morning were a sight to behold. A few weeks later we had to come clean about certain facts regarding the Tooth Fairy, (he was about to enter the Third grade after all,) but for a brief moment, teeth were magical. Since then, however, the magic of lost teeth has tarnished a little. Gotten a tad stale. Poor Stephen just had the bad luck of not losing his first tooth before Mason, which frankly, Mason gave him more than ample time and opportunity to do. So anyway, after we completely forgot Stephen had lost his tooth and should get a visit from the TF, we did our best to make up for it the next night. Monte wrapped a pretend tooth in a bit of paper towel (the real tooth is already affixed on a scrapbook page downstairs--don't judge me) and put it carefully under Stephen's pillow, and in the morning, there was a little bucket with stuff to make s'mores in it. Quite a thing, right? Pageantry and all.

Except that he lost another tooth on Wednesday. And again, we forgot to put it under his pillow.

I know, right? Twice? Having three kids has kind of redefined our family limits, especially when it comes to making a big deal out of stuff the second and third time. Or frankly, just remembering it happened. But, after hanging our heads and explaining we could make it right because we have a hotline straight to the Tooth Fairy's booking agent (he's only six, so I have more time before some kid in his class contradicts my carefully constructed reality), we again wrapped a "tooth" in a paper towel, and put him to bed.

And then, around 11 p.m., plans were set in motion in to replace the paper towel with something more substantial. As the covers were lifted, a shaft of light from the hallway illuminated our sweet little spiderman boy . . . and he was clutching the tooth in his sleep.

It was so precious I can't even tell you. He probably wanted to catch the tooth fairy making the switch, so he could get a good look at her. Or him. Whatever, you know what I mean. So I took his picture, because these are the moments I live for, while I'm cleaning up dried urine from behind the back of the toilet.

Unfortunately, Stephen never got to catch the Tooth Fairy. He is afflicted with his mother's ability to sleep though gale force winds and category F5 tornadoes and nuclear testing and such. Tragic, really. Adorable, but tragic.

PS And his index finger isn't broken. It's double jointed. THAT he inherited from his dad's freaky side of the family.