all in a day's work

if i wasn't already in dire need of botox, i thought to myself, surely i need it now.   i was crouched under the coffee table in our family room, flashlight in one hand, my brow furrowed in concentration.  i could almost feel the crevices in the center of my forehead deepening as i peered at the rug.  susanna knelt next to me, still teary, searching the soft wool with her small hands, while liam stood a few feet away with a set of binoculars (yes, binoculars) focused on the floor below.

we were looking for a tooth.  and if there's any job on the planet more unpredictable than parenting, i'd like to know what it is.

this is susanna a mere five minutes prior:

she had bounded off the bus that afternoon, grinning widely, proudly displaying her new front-and-center gap.  that loose tooth of hers that had hounded us for weeks -- we'd packed her tooth fairy pillow as far back as our trip to DC at the end of march -- had finally bid a fond farewell.  she reported that she was walking back from lunch, wiggling it with her tongue, when it just "popped out".  she brought it home in a plastic baggie, eager to get started on writing the tooth fairy another question, as has become her tradition.

so without even pausing for an after-school snack, she sat in the family room while liam and i went through his homework on the couch, composing her letter on an index card.  i suddenly heard a small whimper, and looked up to see her silently crying.  "what in the world is wrong, honey?" i asked.

she inhaled shakily.  "i -- i lost my tooth," she said, her little-girl voice faltering.

"yes, honey, i know that," i replied.  "that's why you're writing the tooth fairy."

"no!  i mean i JUST lost it."  she held up an empty baggie in her right hand.  "it was just here but now ... now it's gone ..." and dissolved in a fresh round of tears.

"oh!  well, it can't have gotten very far," i said, trying to lighten the mood.  "we'll find it in no time.  let's look!"

which brings us back to botox, the flashlight, and the binoculars.  we must have spent a half-hour scouring that thick shag rug, and came up with all sorts of treasures -- a few sequins from an old princess dress and a penny -- but that little white tooth never did show up.  (i'm telling you, this rug is thick.  i promise that it does get vacuumed.)

and this is the part of the post that i will surely have to delete before i print out our 2012 book, knowing that little eyes will read these words ... but that tooth DID show up a few hours later.  or, at least, a replica did.  it occurred to me that for some strange reason, i had kept each child's first lost tooth in the bottom of my jewelry box.  (i know!  me, with the weird hang-up with teeth, actually kept two of them among my jewelry!  i have no explanation.)

anyway,  i held up one of them for a brief second, deemed it an acceptable replacement, and excitedly entered susanna's room.  i found her arranging her tooth fairy pillow next to her amended letter, in which she had described what had happened so the tooth fairy would understand why her pillow was empty. 

but it was not to be empty much longer, thanks to my impressive problem-solving skills.  i really had to pat myself on the back for this one.   "i found it!" i exclaimed.  "here it is!  it was underneath the coffee table!"

i expected elation.  excitement.  joy.  instead, i got skepticism.  "really?  you found it?"  and then, she had the audacity to scrutinize the  dadgum thing.  "um, well, it doesn't really look like my tooth," susanna ventured, after giving it a quite serious study.

seriously?!  "well, i found it underneath the coffee table, right where you had dropped it.  if it's not your tooth, whose is it?"

she shrugged.  "okay, i guess it's mine."  she gave me a big, holey smile.  "thanks, mommy."

all in a day's work.  not an honest day's work, mind you.  but a day's work.