Tag Archives: Halloween

The Tooth Fairy

It’s a gamble to take a shower with a toddler in your house.  As desperately as I want to get clean I know that I must also want to Magic Erase crayon from a wall, scoop dog food out of the water bowl, re-roll a roll of toilet paper…. something.

I got out of the shower and I heard her start running.  She was up to something.  “Luuuuucy,” I cried. “What are you doing?”

I did not hear her customary response, “Nothing.” Instead I heard her dive-bomb onto the couch.  “Are you hiding?” No response.

I peeked into the living room to see a pile of blankets on the couch and assumed (correctly) that Lucy was hiding with some kind of contraband.  Whatever it was, she already had it.  I figured I could quickly get dressed while she was hiding.  I threw my clothes on and took a deep breath and prepared to find out what she had been up to during my 87 second long shower.

“Lucy, where are youuuu?” From under the blanket I heard her “Hiding!” only it sounded more garbled than usual.

“Do you have something in your mouth, Lu?” She pulled the blanket down, eyes shining. “What do you have in your mouth, Lu? Spit it out.”  I put my hand in front of her face the way a parent does and steeled myself for halloween candy, a beetle, part of a magazine.

“Rocks!” she announced triumphantly as she spit into my hand eight teeth.  Yes.  TEETH.  Two days before Halloween Lucy was living out some kind of twisted horror movie and she spit into my hand a mouthful of TEETH.

They weren’t bloody.  She wasn’t crying.  And yet still for a brief moment I thought “This kid astounds me.  She has fallen and busted out all of her teeth in the time it took me take a shower and it didn’t even slow her down.”  I am not sure what made me turn back and look into my bedroom.  But there on my dresser was my jewelry box.  It was open and on it was a small blue box.  I started to laugh.  In 87 seconds she had climbed up to open my jewelry box, dig to the back where I hide Emily’s teeth after the Tooth Fairy does her thing, stolen them and shoved them all in her mouth.

With a fistful of spitty teeth I started to laugh.  “Yes.  Rocks.  Do not put rocks in your mouth.”  And I started to count.  I counted the “rocks” and I dug through the couch and carefully ran my hand along my white bedroom carpeting until I had accounted for all of the missing teeth.  Teeth safely returned to their hiding spot I all but forgot she had done this.  (Now that is indicative of how absurd life with an almost three year old truly is, she spit teeth into my hand that she had stolen from jewelry box and I all but forgot it happened hours later.)


Emily got off the bus later that afternoon.  “Look at this, this tooth is loose.”  We had the usual “Let me wiggle it” “No, don’t pull it” “I am not going to pull it, just let me wiggle it” argument.  It wasn’t very loose.  Nevertheless, an hour later she came back downstairs with a fresh gap and a bloody tooth.  “It was a one day process! Loose tooth to missing tooth, Mom! Just one day!”

The world is weird.  That night as I reminded her to put her tooth where the the Tooth Fairy would be sure to find it she smiled at me.  “You’re the Tooth Fairy, too, right?”

“No.  Go to bed.  I love you.”

“But you’re the Tooth Fairy, right?”

“No.  Go to bed.”

“I know that you are.  You can tell me.”

“Do you want your dollar? The Tooth Fairy won’t come if she hears you talking like this.” She smiled and pulled her blankets up to her pierced nine-year-old ears.

In the morning she came down and said “Dad, I got a dollar coin from the Tooth Fairy.” He asked if it was Sacagawea or Susan B.  Without thinking I responded “Susan B, 1979.”

Em just smiled at me and said “Yep. Silver. From the Tooth Fairy.”


Day Three: Keep, Trash, Donate

Today’s episode of Keep Trash Donate is not sponsored by my ass. I will give you a moment to be sad.

I thought I’d move on to another part of me that gets no attention. Well, they get a lot of attention but mostly from my nine month old. Lucy is getting teeth this week which means I have a boob out about 20 hours a day. Oddly a single boob is even less than 50% as sexy as a pair of boobs. I will leave that to the mathematicians among us to figure out.

Donate – I am getting rid of a terribly cute dress. It’s purple. And purple is cute. It is a “nursing dress” which means it has two secret mysterious spots to stick a boob out. And it is designed to hide the extra chub one is likely to be carrying after having a baby. I wore it the day I went to have my colposcopy after Lucy was born. (How dare I bring up women’s health issues during Movember?! Jeez, can’t men have just one month!?) Staring in to my closet this morning I realized I haven’t worn it since that day. That was almost eight months ago. I get my boobs out about ten times a day. 10 times 30 days times almost 8 months? 2400 times I have pulled a boob out and that dress didn’t scream “Wear me!” from my closet so it is outta here.

Trash – In to the trash will go a t-shirt I have had since Emily was six weeks old. It’s a pretty spectacular t-shirt really. It has the whole I am one shirt masquerading as two t-shirts thing going on. I enjoy that. A lifetime ago I was a skinny mini and could have appeared in public in nine layered shirts. A couple of kids and a whole lot of pints of ice cream later, not so much. Now I walk that fine line of searching for the ideal coverage. Not skin tight, because nobody needs to see that, but not so loose that it looks like I am hiding something far worse even than reality. Consequently the I am really one shirt but I look like two shirtst-shirt is a great choice. Even better this t-shirt is another item in my nursing clothes repertoire. You can lift up the top layer and pull a boob out of the gigantic underneath arm holes. Gelatinous stomach is covered, boob is exposed. Win win.

So, why am I throwing it out? I was carrying Lucy when I smelled it. Poop. I pulled it off, sprayed a little laundry schmutz on it and I went to throw it in the washing machine when I saw another tan-ish stain on the arm. It had been on there for years. About seven years, actually. This shirt has always had a tan stain on the forearm. I just ignored it. It was a comfy shirt, nursing mom or not. In that moment I knew I had been wearing a shirt with a shit stain on it for seven years. I don’t actually know that tan stain was shit. But I feel it in my bones. I am not ever gonna wear that shirt again. Trash. Day three.

Keep? I don’t mind if I do. I donated a nursing friendly dress. I trashed a nursing t-shirt. What am I keeping? Is it a nursing friendly tank top or a fun sweater that buttons up the front? Nope. Is that because I don’t plan to nurse Lucy as long as I nursed Em? Nope. I just don’t plan to wear nursing dresses and t-shirts for the next four years so I will be keeping these shoes. They are gorgeous. Most recently they were the crown jewel in my Halloween costume. 1983’s A Christmas Story. The Leg Lamp. “Only one thing in the world could’ve dragged me away from the soft glow of electric sex gleaming in the window.”

Day three. Keep Trash Donate. Some day I will be standing just over six feet and two inches tall at a cocktail party and my kids will be at home with a babysitter. I will be making wonderfully amusing small talk in a beautiful pair of heels. I will not be wearing a purple nursing dress shaped like a tent or a t-shirt with shit on the sleeve. Or a lampshade.

Mark my words.

Costume A-ha Moment…

Halloween planning is in full tilt at our house.   There are ghosts in our trees,  creepy scarecrows on our porches and cobwebs with plastic spider rings in our bushes.  There are bags of candy hidden in our closets. Pumpkins have been carved (and will hopefully survive the 85 degree afternoons we’ve been having between rainstorms.)  This Halloween has me soaking up the “family-ness” of it all.  Halloween is MQD’s favorite holiday, and it has long since been mine.  Emily mentioned the other day that Halloween is her favorite day, too, and MQD was quick to point out that with the  number of times a day that kid changes her clothes and/or dresses up, EVERY day is like Halloween to her.  

Em has been under the weather off and on for more than  week.  So the other night when I was at the store and saw this fantastic Queen of Hearts costume I caved and bought it.  It didn’t matter to me if she wanted it for Halloween or not, the gigantic hoop skirt had me so excited that I knew she’d love it.  She has since settled on a plan.  Tinkerbell for the day time at school, Queen of Hearts for the weekend trick or treating.

She’d previously been hoping that we’d all dress up as the Flintstones and was heartbroken when her buddy did not jump at the chance to be Bam-Bam.  I got to thinking about the possibility of a group Alice in Wonderland costume and MQD was on board with either a Mad Hatter or a White Rabbit.  The gears started churning and I started getting more and more excited.  Already I can see in Em’s face the teenager she will some day be.  And I know that the Halloweens she will want to dress up with me are numbered.  It seems like it was only last year that she was a little lamb, and I was a Fairy God Mother.

So when I started looking online for an Alice dress I was prepared to spend a few bucks.  I was excited.  But what I wasn’t prepared for was my reaction to the available costumes.  What if you were planning on Trick or Treating with your children?  What if you weren’t  planning  on using Halloween as an excuse to dress like a tramp?  Now this is certainly not a new observation.  I have been laughing at the quiet girls that suddenly turn in to Sexy Firemen or Sexy Nurses or Sexy Chefs for years.  And it wasn’t because I had a problem with it.  I just had a problem with hiding behind the holiday, with not owning it.  And now it seems I had a problem with the fact that costume manufacturers are under the assumption that everyone wants to look like a hooker on  Halloween.

I think it is important to point out here that this opinion is coming from the girl who proudly left the top three buttons of her shirt open while she served drinks for YEARS  because I had no shame in my game.  I sold liquor.  To men.  Liquor and laughs and, yes, a few cheap boob peeks.     I have zero problem with looking cheap.  But you gotta own it.  And if you own it, you might as well work it. And if you’re gonna work it, you might as well work it for cash.  (The impact that selling T&A along with a side order of Miller Lite had on my self-esteem and emotional development is a story in and of itself but suffice it to say that I still  don’t feel “pretty” all covered up. )

But Halloween isn’t about being “pretty.”  And this Halloween isn’t even about me.  It’s about being the Alice to my Queen.  Ultimately I found a great costume.  And it was supremely affordable compared to many of the other options out there.  And it covered my ass.  And did not require bloomers.  Alice is not known for her cleavage and my rendition would be no exception.  I anxiously awaited the arrival of the costume.  I did cringe a little when I ordered it, an Extra Large.  I do my best not to take it to heart, sizing is so relative.  And costumes always tend to run small, I didn’t have time for my pride to get in the way of… well, of my tits.  Which would most definitely not fit in a Large according to the  costume measurement guidelines on the website.  So I sucked it up, ordered the Extra Large and waited.

Last night it got here.  I pulled it on and it buttons up!  By all definitions it “fits.”  Flattering on the other hand, it is not. I can use this dress next year to go as a Prison Matron, I think.  But Em’s face.   She looked delighted.  So delighted in fact that I didn’t even cringe when I looked in the mirror.  Was I successful in procuring a costume that is not unnecessarily sexy?  Yes.  Do I look like a linebacker?  Yes.    Will I be smiling while I portray the GIGANTIC post “Eat Me” Alice?  You bet your ass.


Sidenote:  The challenges will resume shortly.  I am waiting on my slack ass buddies to catch up with me.