Becoming the Fae
The Tooth Fairy claimed to have borrowed my dad's computer. In fact, she mentioned that she had to kick him off to type but was quite happy to be able to print out her note with our fancy dot matrix printer. Her enthusiasm with our computer was suspiciously just as high as my father's, who had just bought the best 1980s state-of-the-art home computing machine.
I'm not entirely sure why my dad got tasked to work the fairy magic when I was little. Perhaps I wouldn't recognize his slightly modified, scrawled handwriting as easily. Perhaps my mom decided to opt out since she wasn't familiar with the tradition. But now those unabashedly dorky notes are some of my most prized possessions.
I wanted to be a part of that magic, too, and couldn't wait to be the Tooth Fairy in our house. Thankfully my children don't read my column. That's currently helpful.
Unfortunately, a chipped tooth on the playground and a traumatic dentist visit spurred my donning of fairy wings faster than I anticipated, so much so that I had to race to Google the going rates so I could gather my coins.
Well, much like the dot matrix printer, coins are not in use.
However, I wasn't going to drop under her pillow more than what some people make for an hourly wage, as some more posh, pastel-colored blogs suggested. I settled for a fiver and an assortment of candy and a stuffed animal sitting with her first real lost tooth.
That discolored, dead, chipped tooth was pulled because an adult tooth had already lined up behind it, ready for duty. I stifled laughter along with the nurse as we watched my daughter get incredibly high on laughing gas and culminate with a chill, stonerlike compliance where she slowly lifted a thumbs-up sign over and over, even when she wasn't asked.
She woke up and squealed seeing the candy and stuffed animal, beaming with pride at the bounty, especially since her sullen little brother looked on. I had to prompt her to open the note, which she slowly read out loud: her Tooth Fairy receipt and a congratulations on her bravery.
When losing her second tooth, she caught me off guard with where exactly she put it. With both kids in one room, I crept along the floor, wincing at every sound. Even with my best nighttime ninja skills, sliding my hand and then my arm under her pillow, I couldn't find the cursed tooth.
Discouraged and worried, I came back to my bedroom to dance nervously around my mostly sleeping husband. "I can't find it," I hissed. Before he could even answer, I flounced out to write a longer note on my printed Tooth Fairy receipt on the kitchen table. I had to modify my handwriting so the Tooth Fairy could tell my daughter how she loved how well the tooth was hidden, but darn, she was just a little fairy and couldn't move my daughter's pillow. "I'll be back," I wrote. I felt like my dad would have laughed at the story.
The next morning, she breathlessly raced back from my office to tell me that the Tooth Fairy had hacked my computer. "There was another receipt in the printer," she hissed.
Oops. I told her: "She's magic. Of course she has our Wi-Fi password. And, besides, she's small and can't carry her own printer, can she?"
Cassie McClure is a writer, wife/mama/daughter, fan of the Oxford comma, and drinker of tequila. Some of those things relate. She can be contacted at email@example.com. To find out more about Cassie McClure and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.Copyright 2020 Creators Syndicate Inc.