“Mum! Mum!” I heard the commotion approaching. TD appeared at the laundry door where I was loading washing into the machine.
“Mum! Something has happened,” he said ominously. Rosie caught up with him. “Rosie’s tooth is missing!” he informed me.
“And we don’t know where it is,” she added.
“Open your mouth,” I told her. She obliged, and I peered inside. Sure enough, one tiny little pearly tooth was gone. Behind it loomed a pair of ridiculously large adult teeth. (She’ll be one of those kids that has to grow into their teeth!).
“You must have eaten it,” I said. She looked worried.
“Now what will happen?” she asked.
“Maybe your bottom will grow a new tooth,” I said. She couldn’t figure out if I were serious for a moment. Then her face broke into a smile, and she ran off giggling. The tooth fairy didn’t come for that one.
After all that, the tooth fairy didn’t come. I spent days adjusting to the idea that my baby was about to lose a tooth. Days of letting go of the remnants of babyhood. Days of thinking about how life is changing and how I need to go with the flow and move on to the next phase. Days of bittersweet moments, days of dusting off precious memories with a smile before looking forward to all that the next stage will bring. At the same time, I was preparing myself for Rosie to start school, for the time that I would no longer be the centre of her world. For not having my little chatterbox at home with me during the day. Preparing myself for the time that her world would suddenly be a lot bigger. Those first few years are so fleeting, so quickly gone in a blur of laundry and messy bedrooms and childish laughter. Gone forever.
But I can’t mourn the passing of those years for too long, because that would deprive the present of its joy. The excitement of the first tooth fairy visit. Starting school. These moments are no less memorable milestones than the others. The only difference is that they are present, new and fresh, rather than mellowed memories taken off a dusty shelf every now and then. I can’t allow the past to steal from the present.
The first day of school came. The brand new uniforms were still somewhere in the manufacturer’s warehouse, undelivered in spite of being ordered months ago. Rosie had to put on other clothes for her first day of school. It was hard to wake her up and get her going in the morning. Family dramas had seen us out late, helping a family member move house, and she was tired. It wasn’t an auspicious start. I prodded both kids to get ready. They dragged their feet. Only the threat of going to school in her pajamas finally motivated Rosie. (She knows I mean it; TD dawdled and wouldn’t get ready when he was her age, and after a number of days of this, I warned him that I wouldn’t tell him again. He would go to school in his pajamas. He didn’t take me seriously. I was serious. He went to school in his pajamas. I was merciful; he got dressed in the car when we stopped in the school carpark. He has never done it again!). I sent them to the bathroom to clean their teeth.
“Mum! Mum!” They rushed out of the bathroom. TD arrived first.
“Rosie’s tooth fell out! It fell into the sink while she was brushing her teeth!”
“Well, does she still have it?” I asked, envisaging another missed opportunity for the tooth fairy. TD didn’t get a chance to answer.
Rosie ran up, and held out her hand, a tiny little tooth in her palm.
“I didn’t eat it!” she exclaimed. “Now the tooth fairy can come!” She was a happy girl.
We got to school late, due to all the prodding required to get the kids moving. I was hoping that I would have been able to take some photos of Rosie, lined up with the other kids, ready to go into the classroom for her first day of school, like I did for TD. It wasn’t to be. They had already gone inside when we arrived. I took some photos of her outside the classroom, in her non – uniform, then wanted a shot of the moment she walked through the door to begin her school life. She balked.
“I want you to come with me, Mum,” she said. So we went through the door together. For the moment, Mum was still the centre of her world. The teacher showed her to her desk and gave her some craft as an ice breaker. She was shy and tentative at first, but within a few minutes I could see that she was starting to relax and warm up. She was going to be fine. I went up behind her and gave her a hug.
“Will you be ok now, Possum?” I asked her. She nodded, absorbed in her task. I gave her a kiss and said goodbye, certain that she would be fine but not so certain about me. I turned and left the school, a new stage of life beginning for me as much as it was for her. Bittersweet. Proud of her. Missing her already. Happy because I know she will love school. Even a tiny bit excited for the opportunities now opening for me to take on a new role during the time I no longer have children to care for. Sad because my baby is gone forever. Now I have a gap toothed little girl entering the big wide world of education. All of those things and more. Life moves on, and thanks to the forward warning by the tooth fairy, I was ready to face it.
The day that I’d looked forward to and dreaded passed in what turned out to be a very ordinary way. In some ways, it was an anticlimax. Much anticipated, it turned out to be not what I’d expected. Yet, that is reality. We build grand pictures in our minds, bright shiny dreams of how life will be or should be, but how often does reality match the dream? There are no imperfections in dreams, but real life has plenty. The missing uniform. Kids that wouldn’t get ready on time. Running late for the first day of school. Roadworks where we got stopped FOREVER. The wrinkles and patches in the fabric of life are imperfections, yes, but would life be the same without them? What would life look like if there were only bright shiny bits? Like Instagram, where you only see the best parts of people’s lives? The bright, shiny, carefully cultivated images of perfection?
When the tooth fairy didn’t come, it reminded me that events in our lives follow the path of reality, not the carefully rehearsed expectations built in the fortress of imagination, where imperfections dare not show their ugly faces. I needed that reminder. I needed to be reminded to embrace each moment for whatever it is, because one day that moment, with all its beauty and imperfections and forgettable moments, will be the fabric of a memory. And if I waste time lamenting the imperfections, somehow that will tarnish the memory. It won’t be the same as if I just embrace it for whatever it offers. Thank you, tooth fairy.