We wrapped it in tissue and stuffed it in a little brown envelope and put it next to her bed, ready for the Tooth Fairy.
An hour later I heard wailing. I ran downstairs to find distraught daughter, perplexed son, and sofa cushions flung about the room. Daughter was holding an empty envelope. The tooth was missing, gone, apparently, down into the depths of the sofa, with the Polly Pocket shoes and Cheerios from three years ago. And how big is a human deciduous incisor? Not very big at all, certainly smaller than a three-year-old Cheerio.
I contemplated slicing open the bottom of the sofa, but decided to have a look around the room first, in hopes that the tooth might still be here on the surface world. After lifting a few of the flung cushions, I spied a dull white speck on the carpet, which I first took to be a bit of popcorn.
Tooth! Yay. All was fine in the world. And so tooth was reintroduced to the envelope, which was sealed shut. I took it upstairs and again placed it on her bedside table with stern instructions to leave it there.
Less than an hour later, more wailing—worse, more despairing than the first time. I ran down the hall. Daughter was standing outside the bathroom, tears streaming down her face, empty envelope in hand. “Where’s the tooth?” She pointed to the sink.She had decided to wash it for the Tooth Fairy.
“An, an, an, it went down the hole and now it’s gone into the suet!” Deep, wracking sobs.
Looking at your six-year-old daughter weeping such voluminous tears, imagining her moment of horror, the instant of her realization her tooth was lost to the suet –well, if that doesn’t tear your heart out, nothing will.
“And now I’ll never get my money!”
We sat down on the sofa and I told her that it didn’t matter, that sometimes people accidentally swallowed their teeth and the Tooth Fairy still came. You just had to leave a note with a drawing of your tooth, explaining what happened.
She drew what looked like a rooted molar, and then dictated the note.
It worked. TF left her a toonie.