Is it really so wrong that my three-year old son thinks his antibiotic medicine is peanut butter-flavored? That I, his mother whose duty includes teaching him right from wrong, has informed him of this, even though the medicine is actually that orange-flavored thick-coated stuff?

So I’ve lied. But it’s a white lie so it can’t possibly be so bad. Right?

Twice daily for 10 long days, as prescribed, I’m not having to force medicine into a clamped mouth while jousting the flailing appendages of a determined preschooler. My request is being met with “oooh, I like the peanut butter kind!” and a little mouth agape like a baby bird!

Before I do penance, I must confess that I’ve told my children, those same headstrong and impressionable young offspring of mine, white lies on more than a few occasions.

I’ve actually lied a lot.

White lies have informed the kids that the ice cream parlor is suddenly “closed” when proven inconvenient and that the computer “isn’t working” five minutes before bath.

Remember your Mom telling you if you eat spinach you’ll be as strong as Popeye? I just happen to stick in “tomorrow” for added enticement.

This week my first grader shared with her teacher how “Leo is our second Beta fish. Our first one missed his friends at Petco so Mommy returned him while I was at preschool.” Her teacher’s knowing glance was met with my impish shrug.

I didn’t have it in me to share with my little girl then that her fish died (Mom’s a fish killer!). But since then we’ve grieved over the loss of our beloved old cat, shared concern about Grandpa’s declining health, packed food for the hungry, and donated nearly new items to the needy.

My little white lies add convenience to small matters. And only small matters. Life’s harder truths are addressed openly and yes, honestly.

So, is it so wrong to lie that medicine may be peanut butter-flavored? That dinner is usually almost ready? That “we’re almost there!” at our destination when we’re actually not? I need a reprieve once in a while from the truth and frankly my Santa believing, tooth fairy anticipating kids do, too.

By Maija Threlkeld

Labels: cat, grandpa, lying, Maija Threlkeld, medicine, Santa, tooth fairy

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Shortly after my son lost his first tooth, he began asking what the tooth fairy did with the teeth she collected. His kindergarten mind grappled with how the tooth fairy made the money that she left under children’s pillows at night. Since I had no ready answers, I let him ponder.

That Halloween, our dentist offered to collect Halloween candy for the tooth fairy. Each child who turned over his trick-or-treat loot could choose a toy from the dentist’s toy box. After my son reluctantly parted with his colorful assortment of fun-sized candy bars, he smiled knowingly. In the car, he announced that the tooth fairy must sell the Halloween candy and use the profit to fund her nighttime pursuits.

“But what does she do with the teeth?” he asked.

The truth is that the teeth, at least his teeth, sit in a little box on my dresser.

I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with the teeth after stealthily snatching them from beneath his pillow, so I stashed the first one in the box until a better idea came along. That was six years ago. The box filled with pairs of upper and lower incisors, bicuspids, and molars. And now that my son has just one more baby tooth to loose, the box will soon hold a complete set of baby teeth -- save the one my son swallowed in the car when he was six.

Other moms I know simply toss their children’s teeth in the trash. But I couldn’t dispose of them so causally.

The teeth serve as proof of my son’s steady growth, more tangible than a photograph.

Those bits of bone are physical evidence that the adolescent, who has the same size foot as me, was once just a little tike with a single toothed, jack-o-lantern grin. Like tiny pearls stringing together my son’s childhood, these relics represent the transition from a five-year-old’s steadfast belief in the tooth fairy to an eleven-year-old’s willingness to consciously suspend disbelief for the sake of his younger sister.

For now the teeth will stay put. I don’t anticipate turning them over to their rightful owner any time soon. And as for my seven-year-old daughter, I don’t have the same dilemma.

While she’s fascinated with the idea of the tooth fairy, she refuses to place her baby teeth under her pillow. Instead, she lovingly stores them in a box on her dresser, right where they belong.

By Tina Bournazos

Labels: childhood memories, dentist, money, Tina Bournazos, tooth fairy

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For weeks my daughter had been pulling, sucking, twisting and spending most of her waking moments trying to get her lower tooth to fall out.

Despite her father’s and my admonishments that her tooth would come in crooked -- Mimi was on a tooth mission.

Daily we checked its looseness, looking for signs of progress that it was tilting forward or back.

“Any day now,” I would say every day.

Not fast enough for highly determined Mimi. She even adopted my mantra that fruit is “nature’s candy,” and would eat bushels of apples, hoping her tooth would embed in a slice.

Instead, she ended up pooping quite a bit. Apples are excellent sources of fiber.

Some days it seemed like her tooth was falling so far forward it was like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Other days it stood straight as a soldier.

Mimi took on excellent habits such as flossing and brushing with regularity.

Still, the tooth remained planted in her gums.

Last week was hard – one of those student conference weeks that meant every day ended at noon, a Marin phenomenon rivaled only by Ski Week. Though in parts of New England the boys are actually allowed to leave school early to go hunting. That has to be an activity held close to Sarah Palin’s heart. (Wait a minute! How did that one get into an essay about my adorable daughter?)

Meanwhile, back in Mimi’s mouth, her tooth was being stubborn. Since part of her college education is already being absorbed by the cash payments to her dentists for all the cavities in her mouth – I’ve allowed her lollipops to push that tooth along.

I CONFESS!!!! I give my daughter candy and NOT just on Halloween. May I share something with you? Suddenly, just the admittance of this – makes me feel better. Perhaps this could translate to one less therapy session?

Back on the tooth ranch, Mimi was growing impatient. After all, she had put in quite a lot of time, easily as much as she does into her homework, into that mouth.

She was having a play date at home and while I was absorbed in front of my computer, she approached me with a large smile. She held her closed fist in front of me and then slowly opened it, revealing the gold within – her tooth.

“It fell out, Mommy. Just like that. No pushing or nothing. I can’t WAIT for the Tooth Fairy to come tonight.”

Tooth Fairy! My extreme happiness for her was suddenly clouded by the thought: do I even have five dollars in my purse – the going rate for teeth these days. What am I saying? This is Marin. Who knows? I can see children being disappointed by crisp $20 bills.

We placed her tooth in a baggy. This took a bit of negotiation, as Mimi is such a free soul she prefers to leave her tooth exposed naked under her pillow. I, blind even with glasses, NEED that baggy. She agreed and I tucked her in with kisses and all the excitement the morning would bring.

But it didn’t.

“Mommy!” Mimi came running into my room in tears. “The Tooth Fairy forgot to take my tooth.” She held up the baggy and incisor.

Oh, shit. She even had evidence. This, I knew, she would never forget.  I had to remedy this tragedy.

I explained to her that you know how Santa Claus is so busy having to drop off all of those gifts, well, the Tooth Fairy has so many teeth to pick up and money to drop off that even she, sometimes forgets.

“It’s not fair,” she said through tears.

“John Kennedy said, ‘Life’s not fair,” I replied.

“What?” she said, scrunching her face. I told her never mind, but that the Tooth Fairy was a lady you could count on. And she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

The next night I tucked my daughter in, gave her about twenty stuffed animals to hold tight and said the next morning would be a happy one for her.

Come sunrise, a new, five-dollar bill had replaced her baggy and tooth.

But I could see Mimi looked only somewhat happy. “I thought I would get ten dollars because she forgot,” she said. I was happy at least that she was learning her math.

“We’re in a recession,” I explained.

“What?” she asked, scrunching her face.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Hey what are you going to do with all that money?”

“Toys R Us!” she said.

As if there were any other answer. Oh, and the next time she loses a tooth – I’ll write it down in my appointment book, because as you know -- the Tooth Fairy is not allowed to forget.

By Dawn Yun

Labels: By Dawn Yun, tooth fairy

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