Worst Parents Ever
The Wolvog lost another tooth. He was biting into a bagel in the Orlando airport on our way back from Disney, and he felt it wobble in his mouth, so he did what any sane first-grader would do: he stood by the gate and screamed with his mouth wide open and filling with blood, “mahuutisallinoooooooooooooooooooooout.” I really think the boy has a strong future in movie zombie work.
Josh took him to the bathroom to clean up and returned victorious with said tooth in his hand. He tucked it into his pocket and then passed it to me when we returned home. I placed it on top of my desk so it wouldn’t get lost and then promptly forgot about it for a week.
The Wolvog waited about seven days until he meekly said to me, “uh, the tooth fairy sort of hasn’t come.”
So I fully accepted the blame: I hadn’t emailed her. The tooth had gotten lost in the shuffle of unpacking from the trip. But I was totally on top of this. I was emailing her right now. I was asking her to come tonight.
The Wolvog placed the tooth in his special pillow (which had been my special pillow when I was little — sorry, I’m cheap and didn’t buy the kids their own tooth pillow… another mark against me if you’re keeping score). And he set it on the floor next to his bed. And he went to sleep.
And I completely forgot about it.
I didn’t realize that I had forgotten until the next day when I walked in his room to turn off his lights (seriously, it’s as if the kids are allergic to light switches) and saw the pillow now on top of his dresser. Crap. I hoped the kid somehow didn’t notice.
To check if he had somehow missed checking the pillow, when he returned from school I casually asked him what the tooth fairy brought him and he answered: “She didn’t come last night.”
“Are you kidding me? What happened? Let me check your room; I’ll be right back.”
I went upstairs, paused for a moment, and then came back down. “Sweetie, you moved the pillow. I told her it was on the floor and now it’s on your dresser. She must have gotten confused.”
The Wolvog stared at me for a moment. “The pillow was on my floor all night. Daddy moved it to the dresser this morning.”
So I insisted that the tooth fairy must have had something crazy important come up. I’d email her again, make sure she knew which room, told him to leave the pillow in PLAIN SIGHT on top of the dresser, and she would absolutely definitely come that evening while he slept.
The little boy went to sleep, dreaming toothless dreams. And I forgot. AGAIN.
He woke up in the morning and reported that the tooth fairy once again hadn’t shown. And I did what any irresponsible parent would do: I tore the tooth fairy a new asshole.
“I seriously can’t believe that fairy! What the hell is wrong with her? I can’t believe how irresponsible she is. I am really really angry. I am emailing her right now and telling her that she can’t treat my little boy this way.”
“Please,” the Wolvog pleaded with me as I scraped my chair back. “Don’t make her angry. I’m sure she has a good reason.”
“She could be very very ill,” the ChickieNob intoned. “Very ill.”
“No,” I heard myself say because I am the worst parent ever. “No, she’s not sick. I don’t buy that. She’s irresponsible and she’s treating my kids like crap and I’m angry. I’m going to wait up until she comes tonight, and then I’m going to talk to her about this. In fact, put the tooth pillow in MY room, right on my bed, and I’m going to grab her when she flies into my room tonight.”
The Wolvog pleaded with me not to grab the tooth fairy, but he agreed to leave the tooth pillow in my room and let me handle it.
And seriously, even though it was ON TOP OF MY FREAKIN’ BED, I almost forgot a third time. A THIRD TIME. Josh and I were about to go to sleep, and suddenly I saw it and said, “crap! Give me the tooth.”
I slipped it into the ziplock bag of baby teeth I have for each kid. I have to admit that it feels absolutely bizarre to have a ziplock bag filled with human teeth in my bedroom. I mean, if someone said that to you: “I have a ziplock bag filled with human teeth in my bedroom,” wouldn’t you run screaming? And yet, that is precisely what I have — one for each child. Because what else do you do with these tiny parts of your child? Throw them out? Do you know how hard it was to grow those kids? Do you honestly think I’m ditching even one part of them when they cost me so much to create?
In the morning, the Wolvog casually came into our room, and Josh proudly told him to check the tooth pillow. He reached in and said in a quiet voice, “she finally came and she left a dollar. She took the tooth.”
And, seriously, because I couldn’t help myself, I said in my most enraged voice, “are you going to tell me that she has the gall to just waltz in here, take the tooth, leave some money, AND NOT WRITE AN APOLOGY NOTE?”
Because, you know, I forgot that too.