We are the fairies

I'm the tooth fairy.
So is Scott.
We alternate.

Neither of us are the right fit for this position, and it's definitely not a job we love.
The first time was kind of neat...our first kid losing her first tooth. How cute.
Now we kind of just cringe at the site of a lost tooth. We look at each other, and silently say with our eyes "It's your turn!!"


Yesterday it was Scott's turn and he almost chickened out. It took him a full 10 minutes to get up the nerve to switch out the tooth for the money, and Julie's note for the tooth fairy's note. He tiptoed as quietly as a 230-pound man can, slipped the money onto Julie's dresser and picked up her tiny tooth box, and dropped it clumsily on the floor.

Defeated, he came into my room with the box in hand. "I just can't do it," he whispered.
I realize my football player-sized husband isn't fairy material, but I assumed he was a little more courageous.

Sighing, I took the box from him, and ambled back into her room. To clarify, the prettily decorated tooth fairy box must stay in Julie's room after the tooth is removed. And, with every lost tooth, Julie writes a letter to the tooth fairy, so of course the tooth fairy must return the correspondence.

Overall, tooth fairy nights are a big ordeal and to be dreaded.

Mainly because this could be the night we blow our cover. This could be the night we cut her childhood short. As we creep into her room, the rustling of paper, the opening of a tiny box and the turning of the doorknob seem loud enough to wake everyone in the house.

Somehow we've never slipped up. We have accomplished all four of our fairy missions without fail.
Not sure what will happen by tooth 10, but so far we're in the clear.