a.k.a. Telling the Truth about the Tooth Fairy and her Friends
When people learn my husband and I are the parents of twins, invariably the conversation proceeds down the path to assumed doubled challenges. Their suppositions are frequently spot-on:
“Oh absolutely, those first few weeks made it abundantly clear why sleep deprivation is used as a torture method!”
“Yes, as you can imagine, potty training two was uber-messy!”
“Of course we heard it very early, and immediately had to nip the ‘that’s not fair’ argument in the bud!”
Cheryl Lage and her family, who now have a new understanding of magical mythical figures.
With equal accuracy, as seasoned twin parents reassured us in shopping malls years ago, with near-simultaneously born siblings growing older, we’ve discovered it often has “gotten easier.”
Well, until that one night earlier this year…
Theretofore, the Easter Bunny annually left muddy footprints on our dining room table. Reindeer grazed upon glitter-sprinkled oats and baby carrots in our front yard. Leprechauns scattered throw pillows about the house and left their elfin green pee in our toilets—they never, ever, flushed.
Then last spring, She-Twin lost not one, but three baby teeth in a single week. Please note, She-Twin was on a first name basis with her personal tooth fairy; her name was—and if you ask me, still is—Tulip. Not only did money change hands between the two, Tulip and She-Twin communicated regularly via under-the-pillow notes. She-Twin was beyond understanding when Tulip refused to bestow the requested ability to fly and she forgave the incident wherein Tulip didn’t wish to risk a bad case of wing singe by making deliveries on the 4th of July.
Just before summer break, having shared her 3rd grade delight upon the receipt of ten super shiny dimes from Tulip with a classmate, she was met with ridicule. “You still believe in the Tooth Fairy?” she was asked. She defended her wee winged pal, and then prepared for the parental inquisition.
Both our twins had skeptically questioned in the past, but attempting to prolong and preserve innocence (and admittedly, a good portion of parental joy) we typically responded with, “All I know is if you don’t believe, _____________ (insert the present-giver of choice here) doesn’t come.”
This time, after dinner, with He-Twin upstairs, She-Twin told us of her humiliating episode. She asked me point-blank, “Are you the Tooth Fairy? Have you been lying to me?”
“Honey, we have been the tooth fairy. We certainly didn’t mean it as lying to you at all,” I explained as my tears started flowing alongside hers.
“Why would you do that?” she pressed on, as the sobbing continued.
Then Double Daddy, ever calm, lovingly began, “Sweetie, you know all those scary fairy tales about the bad things that can happen if you walk off in the woods, or tell lies, or open the door when you don’t who’s there? Those stories are meant to teach children in a child-like way the terrible things that can happen in life if you aren’t careful. Stories like that of the Tooth Fairy are meant to illustrate in a child-like way how incredibly wonderful life can be. We receive gifts and generosity and kindness and laughter and mischief and the promise of growth—all by simply asking, trusting, behaving, wishing and believing. The Tooth Fairy and the others are simply a loving way for parents to share that glimpse of life’s goodness with their children.”
As my sobbing continued—intensified by my man’s uncanny insight and wisdom—crying She-Twin then continued, “So wait, the Easter Bunny and…?”
“Well…” Double Daddy hesitated.
She-Twin let out a full-revelation acknowledgment wail. We all hugged and reinforced the spirit of those generous joy-bringers is very, very real. Naturally, any conversation of this ilk concludes with the imperative lecture on the need to keep this “truth” in house…letting other families address their conversations when it was their time…reminding her of how sad it was to hear from “someone else.”
After gathering our wits and regaining a semblance of composure, I went on upstairs to check on He-Twin, who surely had been listening.
“Hey Pumpkin, I guess you heard what all was going on downstairs.”
“About Santa?” he offered knowingly, with his typical I’m-seven-minutes-older maturity.
“Yes, she was pretty upset.”
“Wait, you mean Santa isn’t real?” he replied with perceptible lip tremble.
The whole heart-wrenching discourse was then replayed a second time for He-Twin’s benefit.
In many ways, parenting older twins is indeed, “easier.”
On that emotional evening of sequential Santa-squashing, not so much.
But this week, months later, with decorations all around, an envelope found its way to our hands—addressed to the North Pole.
Afterward, in true Tulip fashion, we found this slipped this under our pillow…
Think I’ll keep this in my jewelry box, right alongside those sweet little baby teeth.
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