Kristen Friesen: Tooth fairy tales

I've always been impatient when it comes to wiggly teeth.

As a little girl I'd have those puppies out within hours of their first wag. No thanks to a high pain tolerance, and not just because my dad threatened to use his tools to speed the process --  but because I relished visits from the tooth fairy. And, honestly, I still do.

So, imagine my excitement last week when our baby was about to lose her second of the "two front teeth" duo. It took all the self-control I could muster to keep my mitts to myself. But she's such a tease.

She'd flick it with her tongue and then giggle. I'd sit on my hands. She'd complain at the table, and I'd offer to put her out of her misery. She'd cover her mouth with both hands, so I'd bribe her. No sale.

My first daughter lost her two front teeth somewhat abruptly. She was learning to ride her bike in the driveway. I was taking pictures as she whizzed by. When prompted, she flashed me a toothy grin … and then crashed head first into the fence.

So I iced her fat lip, had her bite down on towels to stop the bleeding and wiped her eyes … and then took more pictures. It's not everyday your first born learns to ride a bike and also loses her two front teeth!

My second daughter is the cautious one. She reminds us to wear sunscreen and when library books are due. So, after all the other first-graders' names had appeared on the "Lost Tooth Chart," she became worried.

"What's wrong with my teeth?" she asked.

"Nothing," I replied. "The longer you keep your baby teeth, the longer you'll keep your grown-up teeth."

Don't ask me where I learned that. Some things you just know.

But a trip to the dentist indicated that, while her baby teeth were holding on, her permanent teeth were already making their appearance. So the baby teeth would get the boot  --  four in one day, eight all together.

Despite the fact they were extracted for a pretty penny each, our tooth fairy was generous. Of course, she's like one of the family, and I'm sure she felt bad that there was no tooth chart in second grade.

Her name is Pearl E. White. And, though the girls have never seen her, they're certain that she's very little and flies. She always leaves a rolled up letter written in tiny font, tied with dental floss. From them we've learned the names of her fairy children, which teeth are most valuable and that she thinks my children are beautiful when they're sleeping. I couldn't agree more.

But there's a lot we're left to wonder, like how she gets into our old house where most of the windows are painted shut. The important thing is that she does and, usually, on time. There have been a few exceptions, but failure to show during inclement weather is understandable. And it would seem that fairies, in general, adhere to bank holidays.

The girls have each wondered how I contact her.

"When you grow up and have your own little baby you'll discover many resources at your very own fingertips," I explained. "Sure, you'll still have questions, but you'll figure out the important stuff. Finding the tooth fairy is just part of being Mom."

  The business of losing teeth is becoming more bittersweet all the time. Sweet, because there's nothing like a jack-o-lantern smile on a freckled face. And bitter, because I'm getting closer to that reality myself all the time  --  which is why I'm careful that we don't ever really lose teeth at our house. I tuck them in my jewelry box instead.

And that has raised a few eyebrows. My younger sister thinks it's nasty, but her kids are still getting their first set. And my children worry about breech of contract. But I can explain everything.

”The tooth fairy and I have a deal. She leaves the teeth on my nightstand, and I keep her identity a secret," I tell them. "She and I are a lot alike, really."

Honestly, I think my girls are beginning to understand that, too.



Kristen Friesen is a wife and mother of three girls and lives in Grand Island. She grew up in a house on Cottonwood Drive in Lincoln, where she learned much of what she passes on in this column. Contact her at hervoice@theindependent.com.