A Tooth Fairy Survival Kit

(5 things every parent needs to assemble by their child's 5th birthday)

1. Books about losing teeth, the Tooth Fairy, and the dentist. Having a piece of your body fall off unexpectedly is very traumatic. Enough said.
2. Small containers to keep loose teeth in until bedtime. As soon as the tooth comes out, secure it in a clear plastic vial with a string attached, so he can wear it around his neck. Children love to look at and share their bloody trophy. Doing this prevents lost teeth and having to assure the child that the Tooth Fairy will find it. (It's very hard to explain when he finds the tooth inside a Lego under his bed 6 months later!)
3. A secret stash of money. I can't stress this enough. In today's world, credit and debit cards are what most people carry, but don't get caught on a Tooth Fairy night with no cash. I once had to leave an IOU explaining that the Tooth Fairy was on vacation in Tahiti. (Hey, it was late...) Also, a quarter is rarely acceptable, you can't buy much with one. My child's friend got $20 for a tooth, I am told, but that's too much. If the tooth was knocked out accidentally, I'd pay $5, but if it gets pulled for having cavities, maybe a quarter is appropriate. Use your best judgment.
4. A secret hiding place for collected teeth. If you don't get caught with them, you don't have to explain how you got them from the Tooth Fairy, and you can avoid causing Edgar Allan Poe type nightmares.
5. Lots of answers and a sense of humor. Be prepared to explain why he has to give his coolest tooth away. (“She is building a huge castle!” or “If you really want to keep it, you could write her a nice note asking her.”) Be sure to have fun with the spaces in their faces, for they will soon be moving into their own places.

The privileged position of being the Tooth Fairy parallels that of a Hollywood actress: it is a fleeting career ended cruelly by the disappearance of youth.

At the ripe old age of 10 my daughter knows I am the Tooth Fairy, though she wishes she didn't. She dutifully plays along, yet now I am sure she is determined to catch me. I am prepared.
She is my third child and I have perfected this act. Still, with each performance there is a fresh challenge. Having lost her tooth this morning, she carried it around showing everyone before she actually lost it. This required a thorough search of the house on my hands and knees. (I must mention here that this is an incredible feat on my part, for I am just one week post-op from an appendectomy!) Failing to find the tooth, I collapsed into bed, exhausted. Immediately, my sweet daughter skipped into my bedroom and announced, “Guess what? I found my tooth! It was right here in my pocket the whole time!” I felt like throwing a tantrum the likes of one of those spoiled child actors, but I remembered my lines. “That's GREAT, honey!”

I am a professional.

She then proceeded to make a large, bomb-proof container to hold her tooth safely until bedtime. I know she intends to catch me, as I am sure I heard maniacal giggling coming from her bedroom as she put on the final layer of duct tape.

I am prepared.

After bedtime, I decide not to chance falling asleep on the job and load up on caffeine. (Like any self-respecting actress, I vow to go to detox soon.) Though my wardrobe lacks the traditional fairy garb, I take my role seriously. Tonight I wear Ninja black.

I am invisible.

Well after midnight the house seems sufficiently quiet to accomplish my task. I turn off all the lights. Bad idea. In my daughter's room I encounter an obstacle course of toys which were not there when I came for a reconnaissance hug! After loudly tripping over a large paper sack, I retreat. Quietly turning on the hall light, I proceed in a “Mission Impossible” style. She startles me by rolling over and moaning, and I duck. Crouched beside her bed, I wait an eternity before finally recovering the jewel. Success! I replace the package with an identical one- complete with duct tape- containing the traditional thank you note and money. (Two can play this game!) I slip back to my room under the cover of white noise from the air conditioner. I feel like Jackie Chan must after doing his own stunts.

I am a professional.

Lying in bed, happy with tonight's performance, I reflect on the swift passage of my daughter's childhood. Being a parent is indeed the role of a lifetime. I am fortunate to have four children. This Tooth Fairy will soon be called back for an encore performance, for just this evening my youngest child discovered her first wiggly tooth.

I am prepared.