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Dirty Little Confession

About three weeks ago my 6-year-old pulled yet another tooth out of his head. I swear that child could easily go as a jack-o-lantern for Halloween this year.

The first couple of nights the tooth fairy didn't come because she has very poor planning skills and had no cash on hand. But that is pretty much par for the course here, and my son wasn't surprised. You know the tooth fairy is very busy, she can't be expected to drop everything right away. She has a life, you realize.

Also, if you stay up late goofing off and acting wild while you should be sleeping, she will not come. A conclusion they came to all on their own. And one I fully exploit at every opportunity. No longer is being good relegated to the month before Christmas in our house. And Santa and the Tooth Fairy, they are like that. (Imagine my fingers crossed tightly together)

A few days after his tooth fell out, my 8-year-old lost a tooth. He spent a good part of the afternoon decorating an envelope for his tooth (so the tooth fairy could see it easily in the dark) and put it under his pillow.

A couple more nights passed without a visit from the tooth fairy. I heard them remark in the morning that sheesh, how good does a little kid have to be anyway. I giggled and thought I'd let this go on a bit longer and then give them their cash.

And well, the tooth fairy got busy and just forgot all about her tooth collecting duties. Completely and totally forgot without the constant reminders.

Then last night after they were in bed I walked by their bedroom door. I heard them talking so I stopped in the hallway to eavesdrop pick something up off the floor.

"Do you think that the tooth fairy will come tonight? I mean, we have been really good at bedtime lately." asked my 6-year-old.

"Yeah, I hope so. All this being good is killing me." answered my 8-year-old.

Then I realized that they had been really good at going to bed the past couple weeks. I had not had to go up to their bedroom once to tell them to stop jumping on their beds, running around the room, screaming, or swinging from the light fixtures. There were no fights to mediate. No endless trips downstairs for water. It has been really nice.

I know I should feel guilty. But deep down inside I am wondering how long I can keep this up before they decide it isn't worth it.


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