we all screw our kids up in our own special way

… that toothfairy is one stingy bitch. 


So, having the army be one of the higher powers that rules your life tends to fuck up a lot of holidays. We can generally count on at least half of our family’s celebrations being crashed by Uncle Sam every year. It’s usually at least 3 out of 4 birthdays, almost always the wedding anniversary (5 out of 6 years so far), occasionally Christmas & New Years, and very often valentines day. Easter and Thanksgiving are about the only holidays that we haven’t missed having together most every year. (I’ll think about the significance of that later… or not…) The point being, the actual DAY of the holiday has pretty much ceased to be important. It’s the event — the celebration — that is the important part.

Take birthdays for example. I can’t remember the last time anybody in our house actually celebrated their birth on the actual DAY of their birth. My birthday was last month, and the actual DAY was just another Tuesday; kids fighting, mom yelling, dad yelling louder, somebody made dinner, everybody ignored the dishes and tried not to get sucked into the vortex of the laundry monster in the hallway. Just another Tuesday. Later that week, however, I went out for an actual date with my husband. And just like that, Birth celebrated. It’s not the DAY that’s special, it’s the fact the YOU were BORN that’s special. My kids are sure that you can’t have a birthday without balloons, so they’re still not sure that I’m a year older, which is pretty much okay with me, as I’d like to stay this side of 35 as long as possible.

These last couple of weeks have been pretty monumental for our little household. Not only did I fall into and eventually conquer the sucking vortex of laundry monster (I can see my hallway again!!!!!), but the cupboards are full of clean dishes (we won’t mention the gnarly allergic reaction to the dishsoap — I told you, husband, NOW will you wash them?), but The Girl has become a Toothless Wonder.

I was beginning the think that she was dentally challenged. Her cousin, a mere 5 months older, has lost like, 7 teeth already, and here’s my kid hanging on to her baby teeth like nobody’s business. So one night as I was helping her floss (yes, we do actually floss their teeth. I can hardly believe it either) and I noticed that 1.) she had a loose bottom tooth and 2.) this was a good goddamn thing since there was nearly 3 mm of new tooth peeking out directly behind it. My poor child is mutating into a sharkgirl! But no, the dentist reassured me that this was perfectly normal. Which was a great relief when I noticed that there was yet another adult tooth vying for space right next to that one, and still not a baby tooth had exited.

Thinking that we might expedite things and avoid having teeth pulled,  we told The Girl that the toothfairy paid way less for teeth when the dentist had to pull them. This was, apparently, a mistake for two reasons. One, she had not yet heard about the whole money-for-teeth black market exchange. Oops. But really, how long could we have kept that one from her? The first day she shows up at school with a tooth missing, some “friend” asks her how much she got for it, and the jig is up. It’s not like we can tell her the toothfairy didn’t come because mom pissed her off — that’s why the Easter Bunny didn’t come this year. (Apparently I offended him with all of my bunny blaspheming on the way home from grandma’s house, and then again when I thought the damn things had invaded the yard. Mom blames the bunnies, Easter Bunny’s feelings get hurt, no chocolate treats in cute little baskets for the kidlettes. I’ll take the heat, I’m a big girl. But I digress… sort of…)

The second reason this was bad? She started working on that tooth and had it yanked out, blood running down her chin, in less than a week, and she ripped the second one out three days after that! On the other hand, her motivation could have had something to do with her dad telling her he could “get that tooth out”, as he holds up his fist. “No thanks dad, I don’t want a knuckle sandwich.” Totally serious, totally straight-faced this girl. And yes, she does understand the sarcasm of it all, so don’t get all DCFS-y or anything. But here’s the real kicker — after she lost her first tooth, she REALLY lost it. As I was looking for an appropriate under-the-pillow fairy-vessel, apparently the tooth went, and I quote, “tink tink tink  down the stairs.” I looked for that fucking tooth for an hour plus. No tooth.

I tried to explain the significance of the first tooth to The Girl, how the toothfairy was going to give her a gold dollar coin, but only for the first tooth, and how she would only lose her first tooth once. She was still more interested in playing with her bear than looking for her tooth. And The Boy? He kept picking up cracker crumbs and saying “I foundda tooths!” After about the 28th time, I found myself answering him back with a not-so-nice “no, no you didn’t sweetie”. I finally gave up and put them both to bed, explaining that no, we couldn’t just leave a note because think of the scams kids would run on the poor toothfairy. Yeah, I know, that was pretty harsh for a 5 year old, but I was tired, my head hurt, and she was the stubborn one who didn’t think my original little pouch was good enough, insisted I find something “better” for the tooth, wouldn’t let me keep the tooth whilst looking for said better something, and lost the fucking thing. Besides — I was pretty sure I could find it in the morning.

As it turned out, The Husband found it later that night in roughly 10 minutes.

I was so flippin’ excited, we tried to wake her up, but she was UNconscious. Once that kid is asleep, it’s like trying to wake the dead. Or a seriously napping cat. But she was incredibly excited in the morning, and the next night the toothfairy came, traded money for tooth, shook her head about the whole damn thing, and put that freakin’ tooth in a very, very safe place.

Now, as for the gold dollar? Yeah, she lost that the next day at school.

That’s my girl…




dear condron.us,  

i know i’ve been conspicuously absent for some time now, and i do apologize for the abrupt and unexplained departure, but it’s hard to reach the computer when you’ve been swallowed by the sucking vortex of the laundry monster in the hallway. it was a long, hard-won battle; tears were shed, blood was spilt, fingernails were broken, detergent and stain remover were used in copious amounts, and socks were lost in the melee of it all. but the clothing has agreed to never again conspire to attempt consciousness and I have vowed to never again allow the laundry pile to grow taller than my knees, or my children’s heads, whichever comes second.


the help.











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