The End of the Big 3!

There’s always something that will pop up to relieve the boredom.

Monkey Boy has a very, very loose tooth.

(About time! So much for this “once they lose one, they all fall out” He hasn’t lost a tooth for months now.)

As I am “on sabatical” next week, I’m sure the thing will fall out then. Which leaves me (yes, the Mummy) with the issue of worrying about the Tooth Fairy’s visit.

I whip up an undated letter on the computer from the Tooth Fairy, and pass on strict and explicit instructions to the Grumpy One on its appropriate delivery.

There! Sorted. Hooray.

Sorted for some hours, anyway, until Monkey Boy comes racing from some other part of the house (I later discover it was from my office), yelling delightedly “The Tooth Fairy isn’t real! You’re the Tooth Fairy, and Santa as well. I know!”

Taken slightly aback, as I was once again unprepared for his questioning, I figure he’s been chatting to his friend at school again. The one who is also providing a fair portion of his religious education. All misguided and significantly misinterpreted and incorrect (according to The Book).

Cross at this prospect – if anyone is gonna cause my kid psychological damage by telling them the Tooth Fairy is just a way for parents to bribe their kids and not really real, then it will be me – I look to him for an explanation.

“I found a letter on your computer. I know its you!” Still delighted.


He then looked a little unsure. “Is it true? Maybe. Maybe you should have saved the letter with a different name. Or maybe you should have saved it somewhere else.”

In shock – mostly the shock of having to come up with a damned good explanation in my current state, two days away from major surgery, a new baby and accommodating a ‘flu inifested person in my home for the next week – but also the horrible prospect of my little boy growing up, I voiced my feelings “I’m sad now.”

Did I say that aloud?

Took Monkey Boy away from ears of younger brother (whom has yet to experience the Tooth Fairy) to discuss the issues as it pertains to us. What did he believe and want to believe? Was he sad? Would he miss the magic of it? What about Santa and the Easter Bunny? What the magic means to me, the suprise he gets in the morning, and how much fun it is for me to stay up till all hours waiting for him to go to sleep, then having to distribute presents or hide chocolate eggs in a slightly innebriated and/or hungover state just to see the look on his face in the morning. Having to remember to get up, type a note and raid his money box for a dollar to put in a glass of water.

The more I talked, the more he assured me he didn’t mind, but his eyes kept welling up.

“Then why are you sad?” I ask.

“Because I made you sad” he informs me, letting go a flood of tears.

Way to make me feel bad, kid. And here I was thinking the worst I had done was badly saved a well written document.

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