Tooth Fairy Helps Self To More Teeth



I found that in The Onion one day a few years back, and I've just been holding on to it.  Today, it's oddly appropriate.

I read somewhere when my kids were little that children will lose teeth on approximately the same timeline as the gained them.  I've found this to be eerily accurate.  For example, 1of3 cut his first tooth at 5 months and 3 weeks, and lost his first tooth at 5 years and 3 weeks.  2of3 woke up one morning when he was 6 months old with a mouth full of teeth, and the day he lost his first tooth, at age 6, he lost 2 in the same day.

Why yes, that did suck, thanks for asking.

Both of my boys have a few loose teeth right now.  2of3 has had 3 working hard on wiggling for a while now; those two on either side of his foremost incisors, and the bottom left canine.  The two on the top have been just the slightest bit wiggly, and the bottom canine hasn't budged at all, but the adult tooth has started coming up through the gums behind it.  He's got a wickedly small jaw, so his teeth always come in behind the babies and push them out.

Wednesday morning, 2of3 tells me his top right tooth is really loose.  I wiggle it, and it's like a week from now loose, which is progress.  By the end of the day, he had that tooth under his pillow.  That boy can get anything done when he sets his mind to it.

Thursday morning, $5 richer, he tells me that the bottom tooth is really loose.  I wiggle it, and it ALSO is about a week from now loose, maybe two weeks.  It's no where NEAR ready to come out.  I tell him to leave it the hell alone already.  All day he messes with it, and all day it doesn't come out.  By dinner time, however, he's got it to the point where he can spin it all the way around.  He can't eat, because it hurts too much, and he's messed with it so bad that his gums are all swollen.  He tries everything to get that sucker out.



Not only did that fail, it really hurt.  And it was my last apple.  I almost had him convinced to do the dental floss/doorknob thing (because, come on, I've always wanted to see if that works) but he opted for less barbaric, if not more unhygienic, measures.



Um gross?  I sent him to bed and reminded him that tooth fairies do not look in tummies or in poop for teeth, so he'd better not swallow it.

Friday morning he awakes, and still has his tooth, and gets his butt off to school.  Where he looses his tooth before lunch.  He is the happiest kid ALIVE.  Saturday morning I am awoken at 8 in the morning on a goddamn Saturday with a very bouncy, "She came!  She left me $5 again!"  At 10, when I got out of bed, I discovered that she, in fact, had left him $9 under his pillow.

Um, what?

Maybe the Tooth Fairy's lovely assistant had thought she'd forgotten, and so added money?  I asked the Tooth Fairy's lovely assistant, and the lovely assistant had NOT added more money.  But there our child stood, with a fiver and two toonies.  Huh.

Welcome to the next installment of "Our Kids Have Us By Our Collective Balls."  I mean, it's not like we can say ANYTHING here, not after the whole debate about the Tooth Fairy being real that we'd JUST had.  Color us screwed.

I badgered a confession out of him later, by staring into all his yellow eyes and telling him to put on his truth hat*.  And then I just asked him.  And he just told me that he found $4 on the table.  All of this happened just in time, too, because he soon got bored and when he gets bored, apparently, teeth come out.  He came to me right before dinner and said, "Hey, mom!  Check out my tooth!"

My, what dirty teeth you have!  No, that's not dirty, that's the BACK.  Of the tooth that was almost not loose the day before.  Seriously, child.  By the end of last night, that tooth was under his pillow.



And this morning, he was thrilled to wake up to a tooth still under his pillow.

Wanna stop your kid from ripping teeth out of his face?  FORGET TO PAY HIM TO DO IT.  Works like a charm.

We spent the better part of the morning kicking ourselves in the asses shifting blame around consoling him and trying to figure out what the hell happened.  Was The Tooth Fairy just totally bombed last night?  Had she come so many times this week already, she thought our wish was a repeat?  Was she upset that he'd stolen from his parents?  What the hell happened?  And then he said the one thing that's made the past 10 years of parenting worth it....

"Maybe it wasn't clean enough, mom."

I have told my kids from the time they had teeth that The Tooth Fairy A) exists and B) doesn't take dirty teeth, so you'd better brush and sit still at the dentist, yo.  We have never tested this theory.  And just like that, my shitastic parenting paid off.  Those kids are suddenly petrified of having dirty teeth.  He ran right upstairs, brushed the lost tooth, brushed the attached teeth, and I swear to GOD ON HIGH, she's coming tonight with Five. More. Dollars.

I hope he buys me something nice with all his new-found riches.

The Truth Hat is an imaginary hat that goes on, and if truth comes out after it, no punishments are given.  It's the best thing I've EVER thought up.

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You guys have, what, two weeks before Thanksgiving? Better go get some Stove Top before it's all sold out, yo. And hey!  You still have a week to enter the little recipe contest going on over here. Prizes yet to be determined. (Read: we'll see how much Daddio lets me spend on stuff for other people.)

Deadline: The Saturday before American Thanksgiving, whenever the hell that is.

Rules: The best things come to those who cheat.

A Quick Lesson in Sociology and Cultural Norms, Using Items Found Around The Home

I'd like you to meet my sister, Barbie.  And my other sister, Barbie.  And, oh, you get it.  Oh, and a bottle.  3of3 insisted they had a drink.



Three of these Barbies are from America, one from South Africa.  They were all purchased at the same time.  Let's see if we can't identify which one of these things is not like the other, using only what's right here in front of us.  It'll be like high school, just without the teacher wearing a bad tie and too much Old Spice who's breath smells like coffee.  (My breath totally smells like coffee, just sayin',)

First, let's see what they're wearing.  Keep in my they are wearing the original, licensed Barbie outfits they came in.  Whoever said you can't judge a book by its cover reads the wrong books.



Hmmm.  One is a ballerina; how whimsical.  One is wearing a bright, short yet sensible frock that looks maybe hand-dyed and covers all the naughty bits.  The other one could pull in a quick $50 on the corner, and her panties are popping out from the top of her skirt.  There's a very interesting clue.

Let's look at that picture again, shall we?  First, I'd like you to notice the height of Barbie and Barbie and Barbie.  Barbie in the middle is significantly taller than the other two.  And notice their legs; how middle Barbie's legs are closed together, and right Barbie's legs are, well, not so much.  Let's put that in our notebook too, shall we?

Next, let's examine their facial features.  These Barbies have been buried in the exact same corner of the exact same toybox for the exact same length of time.  How have they faired after a decent roll in za hay?  See how blue dress Barbie's hair just lets it all go?  All, see her coloring?  A little blush, a sweep of mascara, and some sheer gloss.  Downplayed and simple.  A little button nose, definition in her cheeks.



Now see how red shirt and mini-skirt Barbies hair does not look like she was raised by dogs, like she just washed it or something?  She's got eyelashes as long as her legs, ice pink lipstick, and eyebrows 4 shades darker than her hair color.



And what the hell is that white stuff all over her shirt?  Interesting.



Whoa, dude?  Are you wearing onetwothree FOUR layers of eyeshadow?  Dag, yo.  Hey, did anyone notice how much smaller one of their heads is?



Yet there bodies are the same width.  Weird, eh?  Now let's dive under the surface.  *Indecency warning.  May not be appropriate for boys ages 10-12, or the dudes who read this blog.



Holy moses!  Two of them have pubic regions that are literally PUFFED out.  Barbie on the far left has full coverage panties on, totally appropriate with a short dress.  At least, I assume.  Let's check...



Holy Thong Song, Batman!  "She had dumps like a truck truck truck, thighs like what what what; All night long, let me see that thong...."

*ahem* Well then.  Oh, but I almost forgot little sister Skipper, or whatever the hell they call her these days.  Toddler Barbie?  What's she got going on?



Mesh tops, mini-skirts, hot pink knee high boots.  Reeeeeally? Is it Halloween?  Now, I am remiss to even go here, but I have to know.



Those are NOT Finding Nemo Pull Ups, little missy.  Those are HIGH CUT BRIEFS ON A THREE YEAR OLD.  Someone is not going to be watching any Dora this week.

So, now that we've examined the fake plastic grooming, apparel and undergarment habits of our dear Barbies, which do you think is the South African one?  Any guesses?  Well, maybe we should just ask them.



Lesson over, kids. You all get an A, and no homework this weekend.

Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Judged

Raino is in Vancouver this week for work, and after a long series of emails, we decided it would be fabulous fun to get together on Monday night for drinks.  Which meant I got to leave the house for the FIRST TIME IN SIX WEEKS.  Which was awesome.

I busted out the good makeup. curled the split ends back, put some freaking clothes on already, and headed downtown.  We were meeting at a new bar right in the middle of the city, and we were both admittedly a little nervous.  I got there 15 minutes early to save us a table and pace off some jitters, but since we'd agreed to meet outside, and since we didn't exactly know what each other looked like, I just threw my name on the waitlist and took my little 'we'll buzz you when we're ready for you because we're entirely too good to run around calling for people' Tron looking buzzer thing and headed out front.

At about 8, they buzzed me and I went in to explain that my friend hadn't arrived yet, so I'd need to get bumped down the wait list.  The girls behind the host stand graciously offered to seat me anyway, but I reiterated that I didn't know what my friend looked like, that we were just meeting for the first time, so I really needed to be outside.

This is the point where I need to explain that the bar that we agreed to meet at is The New Bar in town.  It's all shiny and aluminum, with a great if not slightly over-thought menu, Justin Timberlake bumping in the stereo, and ALL THE HOT WAITRESSES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA.  Seriously, I think they take your measurements when you interview.  It is the restaurant of the pretty people.  None of them are a day over 25, an inch over 28 in the waist, and they all look stunning in their little black outfits and high heels that they WAIT TABLES IN.

I refer to it as The Cornucopia of Porn Utopia.  It's eye candy for sure, and I don't care what your sexual persuasion is.  Those ladies be smokin'.

So when the cute little hostess in her almost but not quite too short black dress suit smiled understandingly at me and said with a little *wink*, "Oh, a blind date, eh?" well, what could I say?  I could have said, "Oh, no, we're just blog friends and do you know what a blog is, because I write one but it's crap and she writes one, too, but it's not crap, and we read each other's blogs and since she's in town we just figured it wouldn't be right if we didn't meet" or I could have uttered a sheepish, resigned little, "Yeah."

So there I am in my hot boots and my sensible yet becoming black sweater-shirt thing (what do you call a sweater with short sleeves, anyway?) on a totally hot lesbian blind date in the middle of Porn Utopia and my date is NO WHERE TO BE FOUND.

After about 30 more minutes of pacing outside and getting accosted by a woman who was dead set into crying me out of all the spare change I wasn't carrying, I went inside to ask for a nice, stiff drink.  And they offered to seat me at a table that looked outside.  They're nice little minxes, I'll tell you what.

And I waited.

And waited.

And the hot hostesses kept looking at me.

And so I drank.



And at 9, I threw in the towel.  She wasn't coming, and I'm now a pathetic loser who can't even get a BLIND date, and the hostesses were mumbling in my general direction, so I left.

Turns out, she was doing just about the exact same thing as me at the OTHER The New Bar a few blocks in the other direction.  Though I don't think anyone thought she was a lesbian.  Or maybe they just didn't have the balls to ask.  Bygones.

She eventually figured out she was at the wrong place, and hopped out of the cab at the right place I kid you not within 2 minutes of me hopping into my car to head straight home like a good girl should.



Oops.  While I was busy "driving straight home like a good girl should," she was busy calling my house, talking to The Donor, who gave her my cell phone number, which rang on my kitchen counter right where I'd forgotten to pick it up from, and then talking to him again on my house line, and then giving up, too.

Long story long short, we met up last night.  And she's awesome.  We had a really great time.  Well, I had a really good time and she's probably bleeding from the ears right now, but the hostess from last night was the hostess tonight, too, and she totally believes that we weren't out "experimenting" on a weeknight.

Or so she says, anyway.  It doesn't matter, anyway...she's totally out of my league.

Amazing Moments In Superstar Parenting

Yes, I'd like to thank the academy for this award.  Best Mother Ever; so coveted, so illusive.....

This morning, we lept out of bed at eleven eight because my daughter was freezing and her diaper was soaked loves us and missed us terribly over the night, and while The Donor went downstairs to wash last nights dishes make the coffee, I ran up to the bathroom to tinkle.

It's the post of strike outs.  Sorry.

Of course 3of3 came with me.  That piece of elastic she's got superglued onto her head and my hip only allow her to travel 2 feet away from me at any given moment.  They tell me the glue will wear off before kindergarten; I have my doubts.

So, we're in the bathroom.  Tinkle tinkle, wipe wipe, uh oh.  Someone's red headed step mother has come back for a hail-mary visit.  I grab a tampon.

This is where the dudes 'round here need to go look at some nice, wholesome porn.

"Whassat, momma?" she asks as I unwrap it.  "It's a tampon, honey."  I say, moving as fast as I can to get this shit OVER as fast as I can.  Maybe she won't see what's about to happen if I'm quick enough.  "It's a tampon, honey; it goes inside..."  And as I do the deed, she stands right in front of me, bends over, tilts her head way up so she's got the money shot, and watches what is certainly a Guinness World Record for tampon insertion.  Unfortunately, I was just *this* much too occupied to stop her.  Sigh.

"Ooooh, momma, it goes you bottom?"  Christ. "Momma, you got a snake you bottom!"  Fuck. Me. "Momma, you got a snake you bottom!"  Yes, dear, it appears I do. "Guess what, guys?" she runs out of my room shouting, "Momma got a SNAKE her bottom!"

It's going to be a long day.