While enjoying a sleepover at his grandparents’ house Sunday, Simon lost his second tooth. It had been loose for ages, and I had predicted it would go as much as two weeks earlier. Instead, it waited until he was eating a S’more, came out with the tug of tooth on marshmallow, and like the first tooth was inadvertently swallowed.
Still, the tooth fairy came at Grandma’s house. Evie wrote him a sweet note and put a dollar under his pillow. Simon appreciated the gesture, but wanted the Tooth Fairy to come again. “Why would the Tooth Fairy come twice?” I asked. “Because your parents are supposed to do it!” he answered. So much for maintaining the facade of belief.
Last night, Simon went to sleep dreaming of the Tooth Fairy’s return. But I forgot to grab the tooth pillow out of his closet and wasn’t fully invested in the charade anyway. At one point, I joked to Matt that the Tooth Fairy might just sneak in the room, grab a piece of Halloween candy out of Simon’s bag, and put it under his pillow.
This morning, Simon awoke and immediately checked his pillow. Upon seeing it disappointingly unadorned, he launched into his campaign about the Tooth Fairy’s expected return. After he finished the justification and pleading stage, he issued two rules: (1) The Tooth Fairy can’t actually take his tooth (if he ever doesn’t swallow one), because “it’s very important to me”; and (2) This gem:
“Oh and Mommy. The Tooth Fairy can’t just take a piece of Halloween candy out of my bag and put it under my pillow. That’s illegal.”
I didn’t even fake outrage. I just laughed at how similarly our minds worked, even when desiring opposite outcomes. He’s mine all right.