The past few days have been weird for me… who the fuck am I kidding, this entire year has been bananas. But with peeps in my life being sick, war time and my growing coffee addiction, sleep has been an untamable bitch.
After a particularly long and trying day of life-ing, I get home and start making dinner. I also still have to walk. I want a coffee. I want a wine. I want sleep. What do I get? A tooth.
My youngest has lost a tooth and hands it to me, bloody and flesh encrusted, in a baggy like the creepiest and cutest drug dealer ever.
“I pulled it out while I was pooping,” he says… Because I must’ve looked like I needed these details in my life.
Side note: I don’t do teeth. Wobbly teeth creep me the fuck out. Teeth should stay in your mouth. I just… I can’t even… *shivers* Teeth and I are not friends.
Son number two proceeds to describe, in detail, the hows and whys and wheres of the teeth pulling pooping process while I cook and walk and try to curb my urge to yak in the Napoletana sauce.
Then he gasps. “This means the tooth fairy will come tonight!” I smile and nod, doing a quick mental check of my current cash, I should be able to find a gold coin somewhere.
Behind him, my eldest has seen the panic on my face and waves to get my attention. He points to his own money box, indicating that if I don’t have the money he can lend me some.
This is a perfect way to some up my family. My youngest living in a beautiful fairy tale, my eldest with his head screwed firmly in place and me… barely holding my fucking shit together.
Bed time finally comes and I crash hard. I wake up sporadically through the night… check an email… send a message… listen to some ASMR… fight off nightmares… but I actually managed to get a solid almost 6 hours which is pretty good for me.
Then, I’m in bed, writing and coffeeing before I have to take the kids out when son number two bursts in. Tears. All of them. Bloody tooth bag clutched in his shaking fist.
Swear words. All of the fucking swear words. (in my head of course)
“She didn’t come! I went to sleep and everything! I promise! What did I do wrong?!”
And it washes over me… that feeling of loss… a change in the air. I pick up my shotgun and aim it straight for the tooth fairy and her beautiful gossamer wings. Blam.
I explain to my youngest.
He asks questions.
I hand him five bucks.
We love lies. We love the fairy tale of them. We want to believe in things that are not possible or are not real or could never be. It is only once the lies are removed and we see the truth for what it is… that is when it hurts.