Comedies of all comedies was the scene last night at approximately 2:54 a.m.
I think the worst news a parent can receive comes when you are snuggled in bed for the night and drifting off to dreamland when your child bursts through your bedroom door with his tooth in his hand. You feign excitement and joy as he recounts the step-by-step process of the wiggling and the extraction. You then remind him, even though he's done this many times by the age of 8, what to do with his treasure. As your little tooth miner hurries downstairs for a baggie, you start scheduling in your mind how and when you are going to perform the miracles of the tooth fairy on this night. He arrives back upstairs with not only a bag but also a note on a full-sized sheet of paper for our dear fairy.Tonight dad is out of town, so 3rd child is in bed with you because it's "his turn." You decide that you will not set an alarm because as you age there is always a bathroom break around 3 a.m. and you are sure to be up during the night. Sleeps consumes you and like clockwork, the bladder wakes you at the appropriate hour. This is one of the few times aging give you an advantage. And so it begins.
We live in a 120+ year-old house. There is no board that doesn't squeak. I know my work is cut out for me tonight because I have to go through 3 rooms of sleeping children trying not to wake the beasts. You see, cash is a rare commodity for me. I am an avid user of plastic for almost every purchase making the acquisition of a fairy's dollar an addition to my journey. The only dollar I can think of that would include the fewest number of squeaky floor boards....is in my teenage daughter's room.
2:56 a.m.
I make it to my bedroom door. All is well. I have had minimal squeaks and yet I never remember that I need to oil the doors until moments such as these. At the halfway mark my door squeaks loudly until wide enough for me to squeeze through as I try and minimalize what feels like a car horn in the silence. The child in my bed stirs..I freeze. 3..2...1. Deep breathing resumes. Onward.
I get to the end of a very long yet short hall to my daughter's door and turn the knob. Locked! @^#%!&/! Many exclamations run hough my head as I try and remember which boards were squeaky on the way back to the top of my doorframe where I keep the key to the doors. Door gets unlocked and money is right where I saw it earlier. She stirs but I don't care about her waking up, in fact I hope she does since she pulled the whole locked door fiasco tonight. I begrudgingly close the door softly. Now on to the task at hand. Well almost. Now my bladder has become fully awake and the reason I usually get up at 3 a.m. takes hold of me. To the bathroom. I dare not flush until the task is complete. I slowly open the boys' bedroom door and am immediately met with a deafening crackle. An old foil Spiderman balloon is set as the first booby trap. Child #2 stirs..I freeze. It's safe. I feel like training for this event would best be done in the military. Do they teach how to cross mine fields now?
Legos are bad enough but it's pitch black and because of the late hour of the tooth loss I have not scouted out the path.
I also realize at this moment that since the last tooth loss, I have rearranged the room and put the bunkbed staircase in front of the bunks creating a literal cave that my son sleeps in. I obviously never thought this task through while reingineering the furniture that day. It's enough of a pain to make the bed, but now I have to literally crawl through a tunnel and search under the bottom of the pillow..where my son is laying. There is no side access. Holy Moses.
Luckily I found no Legos in the dark.
Making it to the foot of the bed tunnel I meet all the squishmellows Santa brought for Christmas. All of these mythical creatures are going to be the death of me.
Seventeen squishmellows later and a quick sweep of the sheets to located his foot and I'm going for it.
I have literally turned into Inspector Gadget as I hover above my sons snoring body supported by just one arm and one opposite knee as I find the note under the pillow. Pulling it out reveals to me how incredibly crunchy copy paper actually is. I shove the money somewhat under the pillow and my mission is accomplished. Now to exit gracefully.
What does the note say? It's dark. I have to read the note. I will have to take it to the bathroom where I can turn on a light. Back past Spidey and his loud crackling senses and to the bathroom I go.
"Dear tooth fairy,
If this is my last tooth, thank you for the money. From Alex Thurman."
Awwwww! What a kind boy I have!
Crap!
Is this his last tooth? I have no idea! Last teeth should be grand-finale-money teeth.
Shoot! I have no grand-finale money!
*Sigh*
At this time I also notice that the tooth is not folded up in the paper as I had witnessed earlier in the night. IT'S STILL UNDER THE PILLOW! @($%!
I contemplate writing a note on the paper telling him to just keep the tooth in case it is his last but I figure if I have to make the trip again I might as well just take the tooth. Gotta keep up the dang tradition!
Back past Spiderman the noisiest super hero. This time I nearly fell over someone's bookbag. Nice.
Foot of the bed again...steady..now go go gadget arm...no that's the money..there's the tooth baggie. Go Go Go!
Spidey once more announces my exit. I make a mental note to throw him away very harshly the next day. Door clicks shut.
One last door and I'm home free but this time I can use the bathroom as an actual excuse if youngest awakens. Whew!
Tomorrow's to do list,:
1. Kill the Spiderman balloon for repeatedly attempting to thwart my plans.
2. Oil every single door in this house
3. Make the boys clean their room
4. Take the lock off my teenager's door
5. Flush the toilet.
3:09 a.m. Goodnight.
