07 Aug Tooth Fairy Trouble: One Mum’s Hilarious Struggle to Keep the Magic Alive
Joanne Fedler finds the fiction of the tooth fairy hard to sustain.
The First Tooth: Easy Magic
The thing about lies is that they are very difficult to keep under control. They are very difficult to keep under control.
They say that the best thing to do when a lie gets out of hand is to come clean. Just own up. But sometimes undoing a lie is harder than working to keep it going. Take the conundrum of dental disappearance, for example. The bloody tooth fairy.
When my daughter lost her first tooth at about the age of six, it was so easy. She left her tooth under the pillow, and the next day, there was a two-dollar coin in its place. The tooth was gone. Her excitement was infectious. “What does the tooth fairy do with the teeth? How does she carry them? How does she know who has lost a tooth?”
As more teeth began to come out, the preparation for the arrival of the tooth fairy, once so simple and elegant, became more elaborate. Food was left out for her. Notes. Gifts were scattered around the room. What started out as a straightforward exchange – tooth for money – has become an intricate barter of goods, an international courier operation I am not equipped to handle.
Raising the Stakes (and the Expectations)
From coins to snacks to full-blown gift exchanges—how things quickly spiralled out of control.
By the time my daughter had lost her fourth tooth, rumours were being circulated at school by those with older brothers and sisters that, in fact, there was no such thing as the tooth fairy and that it was the mums and dads who came, took the teeth and left the money.
“Isabel says it’s her mum,” my daughter said, cross-examining me, as we drove home one day. “I want to know. Is it?” I had looked at her in my rear-view mirror, her face all freckled and earnest. “Just tell me the truth,” she said. The face framed in my mirror was a snapshot of guileless wonder. Her little frown was the only mark of a budding suspicion rooted in logic. She was dealing with her first intellectual dilemma: to believe or not to believe? Hoping and wanting magic were at war with rationality. Who was I to swell the ranks of cynicism?
“I’ve heard she only visits people who believe in her. So I guess it’s up to you.” The lie had rolled off my tongue with the ease of a mother’s sweet nothings, holding her in the net of fraying innocence, stitched together with the gossamer of countless betrayals. We had driven on. She was silent. Then, “Poor Isabel,” she had laughed, “Thinking it’s her mum!”
The Interrogation Begins
Schoolyard rumours spark suspicion, but one clever mum finds a way to keep the magic alive—for now.
That was then. Three years later, the lie has outgrown me. Truth be told, it’s become feral. I dread wobbly teeth. I have palpitations for days before that tooth finally pops out. The whole scenario has become increasingly stressful. These days, my daughter goes to bed late; sometimes later than me. She’s a light sleeper. And she has much higher expectations of the tooth fairy than before.
Take last night, for instance. Instead of just leaving her tooth under the pillow, she put it in a special box. The special box went under her pillow. With a note for the tooth fairy. Despite my exhaustion and my preferred 9 pm bedtime, I watched bad television until I was sure she had fallen asleep. I crept into her room, pausing after every footstep. I slid my arms under her pillow. I could feel the note, but if I pulled too hard, I could wake her up. I manoeuvred myself, struggled a bit and wrested the note free, leaving a five-dollar note in its place. But my fumbling had woken her up…
A Midnight Mission Gone Wrong
An interrupted operation, a half-complete swap, and a child who’s now asking the real questions.
“Mum, what are you doing?” she chided. With a pounding heart as if I’d just been caught stealing, I managed to say, “You were having a nightmare. I just came to see if you were all right.” I was desperate, okay?
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I thought I heard you having a nightmare,” I continued, hiding the note in my hand. “I’m okay,” she said, “Goodnight.” “Goodnight,” I said, standing there like an idiot. There was no chance of getting to the tooth. “You can go back to bed,” she said. “Yeah, thanks,” I said, my brain scrambling.
In my bedroom, I read the note. Not only had she left the tooth for the tooth fairy, but apparently, she’d left some other gifts scattered around her room, too. It was all too complicated for me.
I did not sleep very well, wondering how she would respond in the morning. Perhaps the five dollars would trump the apparent inconsistencies. I was completely wrong about this.
Rejection, Logic, and a Fairy on the Brink
Why a missing tooth sent one child into emotional meltdown—and how mum patched it all back together.
She came into my room in the morning, sobbing. “The tooth fairy didn’t take my tooth,” she said. “She just left it behind.” “Did she?” I asked, horrified. “She left money, but she left my tooth. Why? Why did she reject my tooth?” she sobbed. See, kids who can use terms like ‘rejection’ shouldn’t be in tooth-fairy territory. Next, she’ll be telling me the tooth fairy is playing hard to get or doing a passive-aggressive routine on her.
“Maybe she couldn’t find it,” I suggested. She rolled her eyes at me. “The tooth fairy took my note, and the note was next to the box with my tooth.” I tried again: “Maybe she was ill and couldn’t carry the tooth.” More rolling of the eyes. “She took the note…” I tried again: “Maybe she figured your room was too untidy… I’ve heard tooth fairies only visit tidy rooms…” “Mum!” she exploded, this last suggestion being clearly too much to bear. “She came and left money. If my room were too untidy, she wouldn’t have come at all.” Innocence and logic are such incompatible partners.
I had no consolations for my daughter, trying to unpack the possible permutations of why the tooth fairy didn’t do what she was supposed to do. My daughter spent the day pondering the conundrum of the inadequate visit by the tooth fairy, while I spent the day wondering how the hell I was going to make this right.
When she got back from school today, under her pillow was a gift. A new tooth-fairy box that must stand on a bedside table. And a note, from the tooth fairy apologising for not taking the tooth, but she had a broken wing and a little cough last night. The tooth was gone, as were the gifts and snacks left out for her.
When the Tooth Fairy myth starts to unravel, one mum finds herself tangled in an elaborate web of late-night missions, forgotten teeth, and logic-defying lies. A witty and relatable parenting tale.
All is well for now. But there are still nine more of those baby teeth. I’m over the tooth fairy. I’m ready to come clean…
From the ADA:
FYI: Australian Dental Association’s (ADA) survey of 25,000 people released during Dental Health Week~$6.20 is the average amount the tooth fairy leaves.
