Add “Toothfairy” to my job description, please

In my life, I’ve been a lot of things thus far. Mom, wife, personal chef, laundry service, chauffeur, housekeeper, Santa Clause…but last night as I crept as silently as I could into my son’s room to strategically place five dollars in place of a tooth, I feel I can rightfully tack Toothfairy onto that list. And I’m a damn good one.

The funny thing about trying to ‘creep’ anywhere is that seemingly innocuous sounds produced by walking, standing, or breathing, are amplified tenfold. That door never creaked that loudly before did it? Since when did the floor moan and groan so loudly when stepping on it tiptoed? Clearly the forces of the universe were working against me. I slowly, carefully opened the door to my son’s bedroom last night and peeked my head in. I saw him there in bed, mouth open and snoring. Perfect conditions to pull off this stealthy toothfairy operation. I crept to his bedside and paused, froze in my current position for a few seconds to be sure that the displacement of the air that I caused in his room wouldn’t wake the neighborhood. All was still and quiet…well, besides the snoring coming out of this kid that would put even my easy-chair napping dad to shame. My hand was under his pillow, fumbling around for that little white envelope, everything perfect, when it happened.

A stirring. A cough. This child that has no problem sleeping through thunderstorms and loud t.v.s was going to wake up and catch me in this compromising position. Did I mention that everything was illuminated by the light from the t.v.? So it’s not like I could just stand there in the dark, unnoticed. I snatched my hand back, with the envelope, and ducked down as quietly as I could on my hands and knees. I felt like I was in some sitcom where the boyfriend sneaks into his girlfriend’s room at night, then when the parents come to investigate, he has to hide somewhere, usually in some stupid place like down beside the bed or behind a curtain with his feet sticking out.

His noises and rooting around subsided, and it was safe to assume he was back fighting with his army men and Indiana Jones in dreamland. The exchange was made quickly – tooth out, money in, closed the envelope. I slid it back underneath his pillow and held my breath. Nothing. I came back from which I came and made my husband acknowledge my accomplishment and congratulate me on a job well done.

And it was all worth it. When he discovered his dollars this morning, he was amazed. It was like magic. He proceeded to go to school and show everyone what he got for now having an empty tooth hole.

I am nothing if not an expert at personifying imaginary beings.