A Rite of Passage

My mother made this tooth-fairy pillow for me when I was Lucette's age. The age when little girls start turning into bigger little girls ... the age when teeth start a-tumblin' and smiles begin to grow up. A little bit bittersweet, if you ask me.

Lucette has had this tooth-fairy pillow on her bed for almost a year. Lucette has had wiggly teeth for almost a year. Those little pearlies have just hung on, refusing to let go of babyhood and causing Lucette much aggravation.

"Please, yank them!" She would beg us, embracing the potential pain. She gave up on us last night and set to twisting a lower offender. At about eleven o'clock we heard a shout: "I lost a tooth! It's out! I lost a tooth!"

So I asked her, "Are you going to put it in your tooth-fairy pillow?" "Oh, yes," she replied. But after a moments pause, she remarked with a smirk: "I'm going to put it in the pillow, but ... I know she's not real." She went on to explain that she once found a discarded tooth of Peter's before I had time to trash it (No, I don't keep them, it grosses me out beyond words) and she put it under her pillow. Next morning? No cash, no glitter sparkles. The hoax was revealed.

At this point, Pops began to chortle and sputter out peppermint tea. He was never a fairy fan to begin with.

Assuming I don't forget and have to make a bald-faced lie about her having a high-volume tooth night and to try again (everything about that is horrible, I know it), tonight I'll sneak in, snatch the nasty little tooth (and promptly toss it!), and leave a few quarters and some silver glitter sparkles.

It's good not to need to believe ... but pretending is still so much fun.