Tag Archives: tooth fairy

Apparently the Tooth Fairy got a tax break too

Considering my oldest child is only four, I admit I’m still fairly new to the parenting game. However, I’m not so new that I don’t already have unnecessarily strong opinions on how the rest of you are doing this wrong. (Oh, shut up, you know we all do. The second that baby came out of my body I was immediately critical of how the doctor was holding him.)

Now, let me clarify, I don’t care how you raise your children. I don’t care what you feed them. I don’t care what they watch or their “screen time” limits or if they do chores or how you discipline them. I don’t care what you name them or if they’re on a leash or free range or home schooled or fancy private schooled or even if they are buttheads (because, hey, my kids also have butthead tendencies).

I don’t care about any of that. You are the expert when it comes to your own kids.

But there are certain things that affect all of us parents. Certain things that we are all in together. And some of youse guys are completely ruining it for the rest of us.

Take the tooth fairy, for example. When I was a kid, the going rate was a quarter per tooth. So, you can imagine my surprise when I was scrolling through Facebook and discovered that some kid got an electric train set from the tooth fairy.

AN ELECTRIC TRAIN SET. For sitting there and letting a body part fall out of his head. And not even a useful body part that can be studied for science or something. Just a gross useless one covered with the ghost dust of a thousand dead Goldfish crackers.


Even worse, I found out the current monetary rate for a baby tooth is now apparently $20.

Twenty American dollars.

Do you know how many teeth there are in those little heads? Well, me neither, but it’s a lot. Who are you people? Don’t you have bills? Student loans? Is Grandma footing this expenditure?

I mean, I could understand if this was like a limb fairy or something. I can see giving them $20 for an arm that falls off. They only have two of those.


“Oh, but it’s my choice what I give my kid from the tooth fairy,” I hear you other parents haughtily declare as you spread diamond jelly on your artisan bread in front of your shrine to Gwyneth Paltrow in your newly renovated kitchen.

But it’s NOT your choice. Not this. Because do you know what happens when your adorable Sharpay gets an electric train set from the tooth fairy? She tells all the other kids and then they come home to us demanding to know why they only got a dollar. And let me tell you, answering “because the tooth fairy hates you” is NOT the correct response no matter how annoyed you are by their whining. In fact, there is no good response to that.

It’s the same thing with Christmas. You want to get little Luxx an iPhone for Christmas? Great. Fantastic. I don’t care. But don’t say it’s from Santa. Because not all “Santas” can afford iPhones and/or think a 6-year-old should have one. Take credit where credit is due and make the jolly fat man give them a ball or some stupid crap.

And then there’s Easter. Can someone please tell me at what point Easter became “Christmas: The Sequel”? For the past five years, I made a drinking game out of scrolling on social media and taking a shot every time someone posted a photo of the loot their kids scored from the Easter Bunny. We’re talking tricked-out bikes. Barbie Jeeps. Tickets for Disney World. And, again, iPhones because Apple must give massive discounts to mythological creatures.

Needless to say, I’m usually drunk within 12 minutes.

Just give them a basket of sugar and some gross eggs and call it a day, other parents. Come on.


And yes, I do understand that we all have to somewhat keep up with inflation. I don’t even think they make buffalo nickles anymore or where you would find a ha’penny. But they’re kids. They have very little concept of modern economics. We can underpay them. They have no idea. And they are very unlikely to form a union considering most of them haven’t even fully mastered the spoon yet.

So let’s keep it simple. Kids shouldn’t be able to afford a semi-fancy bottle of wine because they lost a tooth. They should be able to buy gum. And not the good gum either. That crap that taste like fruit-flavored chalk.

Because childhood is already inherently magical. And because children actually like that disgusting cheap gum. And because it’s hard enough to parent without raising kids who expect high-end luxury goods for simply being kids.


Lie to me, baby

It started with the vegetables.

As soon as my baby was able to chew anything besides my tender bosoms, I shoved as many vegetables into his mouth as I could, cheerfully exclaiming the whole time how incredibly “nom-nom” they were.

It was the first lie I told him.

Vegetables are not, in fact, “nom-nom.” They are horrible. The only reason we humans eat them is so that we live past the age of 24 (or because the restaurant is out of the fried cheese appetizer so we settle instead…sigh…for the fried pickle platter). And yet there I was, putting on an elaborate show about how delicious they were to my 6-month-old.

“Look, Mommy eats them. Nom-nom-nom,” I repeatedly said as I did that optical illusion trick where I turned to the side and made it look like those disgusting mashed peas were going into my mouth (because babies are adorable but extremely dumb).

I lied to him because I didn’t want him to turn out like me, someone who cried the last time she had to eat a tomato (in my defense, I was only 28-years-old). I want him to have a wider palette at the age of 6 than I do at the age of 33.

But this lie, this tiny, little white lie, was just the first of many. Because the sad thing is, childhood is built on a web of lies. A web of lies weaved by the people who are supposed to love the child the most.

It starts innocently enough. Take Santa, for instance. You just want to add to the magic of Christmas, right? Everyone does it. What’s the big deal?


Until the day you realize you are essentially saying, here, kid, sit on the lap of this strange man who reeks of gin while Mommy takes 58 photos with her phone and then pays the nice elf who smells of marijuana $35 for an identical photo while you tell the strange man what you want for Christmas so he can break into our house and leave it under the tree we murdered specifically for the occasion.

And that’s just the beginning. There are so many more lies coming my son’s way.

There’s the tooth fairy. Hey junior, stick that body part that just fell out of you under your pillow so a magical creature can break into our house and purchase it for 25 cents using the honor system (although with the current rate of inflation, my son will likely be getting a check for $200 under his pillow with a note in the memo to please not cash it until next Friday).

And the Easter Bunny, where, the thing is, sweetheart, some super-intelligent rabbit lays eggs and then paints them and hides them and you have to dress up in a turquoise shirt and khakis in order to go find them. And then we all eat ham until we get the meat sweats.

And don’t forget St. Patrick’s Day. See, honey, Grandma is going to babysit you because Mommy and Daddy have to get drunk today to celebrate the birth of the leprechaun. It’s the law.

And as he gets older it’s only going to get worse.

Where do babies come from?

Well, when a mommy and a daddy really love each other, they do a special hug and then mommy hates everyone for nine months and that’s how we got you!

Do girls have cooties?

Yes. Stay away from them until you are 35. Then find a nice one right away and give me 11 grandchildren.

Where do people go when they die?

Who wants to go get ICE CREAM!?!?

Why do I need to learn algebra? I’ll never use it once I graduate.

Don’t be silly. I use algebra every day. For things like…taxes. And…uh…grocery shopping. Why do you think it’s called “pi”? Solve x for “e.” And you get pie. Now shut up and do your homework.

So, are all these lies necessary? Yes. One, because they really do make childhood more magical. Or at least they did for me. Kids don’t care why that strange man wants to give them free toys or why a fairy wants to hoard their tiny body parts or why a rabbit poops eggs to celebrate spring. They just want free toys and free money and free rabbit poop eggs.

Two, they shield kids from important life facts. No one would ever reproduce again if they knew at the age of five what their Daddy was doing to Mommy (or vice versa) during their “special hug.”

But most importantly, we need little white lies to survive as a species. I mean, of course none of us have ever used algebra after high school (unless you’re like a wizard or an engineer, which are the same thing in my book). But if we told kids the truth, then there would be riots in the streets and eventually we would stop teaching algebra until it became like a dead language and that would be the day the aliens invaded and the only way to stop them is to solve that stupid triangle thing. Only no one will remember how to solve it and we all die horrible fiery deaths.

Which is why the first time my son catches me in one of these lies, I’m going to tell him I had to do it for national security reasons.

I’m a patriot, really.