What the hell?

I have a birthday this Saturday. It is the last birthday I will ever have. Isn't that what I'm supposed to say? I'm knocking on 40's door. Forty has unlocked the door, cracked it open and is pulling the chain off to let me in. I'm going to be *gasp* 39. Thirty nine forever. Not that I really feel that way. Seriously, I'm not concerned about the age thing. My mind is young as ever. Mostly it's just my body going to pieces.

I'm doing everything I can to push that off. The decay. The decrepitude. Is that even a word? This hurts. That hurts. That doesn't run right. I have glasses now. I'm tired. I don't enjoy things that I used to enjoy. I can't even eat candy without thinking about how it will affect me. I won't go into details. You can thank me later. I do workout. I lift weights. I do cardio. I try to stay fit. I don't smoke. I do drink, but not a lot, unless I'm drinking with my friend, Tracy, and then I just get sucked in. I don't engage in dangerous activities, unless you call willingly walking across a Lego strewn floor in the dark dangerous. Painful, yes. Dangerous, not so much.

Forty will not get the best of me. But I have a feeling it will be the best part of my life. My kids are the best age for actually getting things done. They help out. They aren't as demanding. One will actually start driving in the next four years. I feel like I could actually become a real person in these next few years. Not just "mommy."

Mommy has been my persona for the last 11 years. And when I stopped working and stayed home, I was so "mommy" that I became literally invisible to people at my husband's work functions. So, it is exciting to think that maybe, maybe I could have a purpose other then washing clothes, doing dishes, driving kids, shopping (and not the fun kind). I might actually find a job that - wait for it - pays me money! Where I can work on something and actually finish it! Where I might even get a "way to go" or "thanks for your hard work." I know, I'm getting all crazy in the head. What do I need that for? I'm just a "mommy." Mommy's are all about selflessness, sacrifice, giving.

I'm not that mommy. I have been for 11 years. But now, I'm taking back my body, my mind, my life and working on something a bit more exciting than a class homework assignment to build a diorama or finding something that my son will eat that is even remotely healthy. I go out several times a month. I'm still feeling guilty, but that is passing. I have finally realized that without some "me time" - I know, how cliche - I don't have much left for everyone. The well is dry, people.

So, I'm almost 40. Almost. I still have one year left to act like a 30 year old. Not sure what that is, but I'll let you know if I can figure it out before I'm 40. I'll be here, living the dream.

I am a bad tooth fairy

My son lost his first tooth last week. He's 7 and in first grade. It was a big deal. He's been feeling like a baby because so many of his friends have lost their teeth and walk around with that punched-in-the-mouth goofy smile. So, one finally came out with all the usual fanfare and whooping. We put the tooth in a big plastic tooth - the kind the kids get at school when they lose a tooth at school and the teacher doesn't want to be responsible for losing it, very cute. We put it in the tooth fairy pillow. We put it on his bed post and we put him to bed with dreams of the little winged tooth fairy traipsing across his pillow to retrieve the tooth. I'm saying "We" here, because there were two adults involved. Just so you know.

All was well. The tooth fairy came. There was a crisp, new $1 bill waiting for him when he woke up. He proudly showed us his prize and spent the better part of the day stopping to smile at me often with his gaping hole in front.

The trouble came that weekend, when baby tooth number two decided to leave his gummy roost right before his 7th birthday party. Yeah, big whoops, you did it again, hooray! Let's put it in the big plastic tooth. Let's put it in the tooth fairy pillow. Of course the tooth fairy will come again. I don't know how much you'll get. Let's get ready for the party.

Hours later, after the screaming hordes of 7 year olds left a wake of destruction in their departure. Exhausted, we put the boy to bed. We kissed him goodnight. We looked at the tooth fairy pillow and made a mental note to remember our job before bed. Then one of us fell asleep. It was not me, I should add. No, I was up entertaining the sleeping one's brother and his wife. So, when I finally stumbled off to bed, with the barely awake person tripping up the stairs, the last thought on my mind was the tooth.

I checked on my son, patted his head, turned off his fish light and went to bed.

In the morning, his telltale thump off his bed and pit pat into our room alerted me. He shoved his hand into my face, his fist holding the plastic tooth, and he rattled it. "How come the tooth fairy didn't come?" Panic. Groggy morning haze, I said the first thing that came into my mind..."well, maybe you didn't sleep long enough. The tooth fairy must be very busy today. Why don't you cuddle with us for a while?" He slips into bed with us and I slip out, taking the offending rattling plastic tooth back into his room. I carefully slip it out of the plastic container and put in it a tissue. I'm looking frantically around his room for change. I almost never have change or even dollar bills in my wallet. And I really don't think he'd fall for a credit card receipt.

There, on his dresser, a quarter. But only one. How much does a second tooth rate? I still think $1 is a little high for teeth. Hell, I only got a dime when I lost my teeth. Yes, thirty some years ago. Shush. So I decide 5o cents will do. But where can I find another quarter? And will he notice that his quarter is missing? I mean, really, he's a boy. He's his father's son. He doesn't notice the piles of dirty laundry on the floor or the magazines scattered around or his never ending trail of Lego's around the house. He's going to notice one quarter missing off his dresser?

Quickly and quietly I take the quarter and carefully unplug his piggy bank (an actual pig with a cork nose) and dig around for another quarter. Dime, nope. Nickel, that won't do. Could it be...yes, a quarter. I slip them both into the pillow and tip toe back into my room. All of this has happened in the span of about 3 minutes. I'm hoping he doesn't notice my abscence.

Later in the morning, after breakfast, after the Aunt and Uncle departure, he comes downstairs with two quarters in his fist. "You put these in my pillow!" he accuses. "Didn't you?" Who me? No, I didn't do that. What makes you say that? "There wasn't any money when I woke up but after you went into my room there was. It was you, wasn't it!?" More denying, more lies, more distraction. But it's already over. I've blown it. I am a bad tooth fairy. And my son (albeit my second child) will not know the magic of the tooth fairy because my memory is crap. What's next? Santa Claus? The Easter Bunny? I'm not stupid. He's not giving those up. He gets too much stuff from them. Hopefully he won't make the leap. If the tooth fairy isn't real, then???

But then again, there are two adults in this house. The other one, my husband, could have remembered. But who are we kidding? His memory can't even hold his own children's birth days (for which he was present!) so I don't think tooth fairy duties are on the top of his list. He's not the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus. I am the imaginary gift giver, tooth retriever and chocolate deliverer. Just me. And I have enough stuff on my plate. Sometimes I slip up. And I'll do it more as the little buggers get smarter and more crafty. At least until that day when they put this childishness behind them. I'm not looking forward to that day. Not yet.