If You're Going to Be the Worst Parent Ever, Make Sure You Have a the Best Co-parent Ever

The Tooth Fairy didn't make it to our house last night. This is a huge problem.

In the decade that she and I have had to work together to manage the extraction of baby teeth from out of little faces and under little pillows, she's not been able to complete her end of the deal a only a handful of times. There are numerous reasons why the tooth fairy has missed picking up a tooth - usually, it's simply that the tooth was dirty. Everyone knows the tooth fairy doesn't take dirty teeth. This is why you have to brush twice a day every single day, because you never know when one's going to fall out. Once she had the stomach flu (no one is immune from that BS),  and once or twice she's embarrassed to admit she's been a little drunk. What? Tooth fairies have parties, too. Who's going to be the DD for the freaking tooth fairy? You want her to drink and fly? Didn't think so. She very responsibly stayed home, feels terrible about the entire thing today, and won't be making that mistake again for a very long time.

But last night, conditions were perfect. It was Thursday night, a work night and hardly a night for revelry. We waited until every single one of us was home from work and school to go out back and call the tooth fairy, making a wish on the brightest, firstest star we saw that night - and we all made really good, sincere wishes out loud that she'd come and take 3of3's tooth. The tooth itself was carefully tucked under the perfect spot on the pillow - not so deep that she wouldn't be able to reach it, not so close to the edge that it might fall out onto the floor if 3of3 had a restless night's sleep.

We did everything exactly right, and still the tooth fairy didn't come. Needless to say, 3of3 was devastated. 

When she handed her tooth to me in the kitchen this morning, I looked closely at it. "It was probably dirty, honey. You know she doe...." "No mom, I brushed it extra last night before i went to be to be sure it was super clean." 

Oh shit. 

"Well maybe she...maybe we...um..."

"She just didn't COME, mom. She just FORGOT about me."

My 15 year old walked in, and I asked him, "Hey, why did the tooth fairy miss you when you were little?" He grumbled something very tired and 15 back at me. I tried to find a silver lining. "But didn't she always leave you extra when she missed a night?" He glared at me and said, "I don't remember. I just remember her not coming."

Ouch. 

I went over to 3of3, offered her a baggie for her tooth, and gave her a hug. Jim came into the kitchen and asked what was up. We told her the tooth fairy hadn't come, and 3of3 was just so sad about it, and he said, "Well of course she didn't come. Didn't you read the news?"

3of3 looked up. So did I. So did the 15 year old trying to not be a part of any of this. 

"Polar vortex," he said, while he brewed his coffee. "Reuters had a whole article about it. Public service crews are all jammed up, up and down the eastern seaboard. The tooth fairy was grounded, like my plane was the other day coming home from my trip to New York. She didn't get to a single kid last night."

"OOOOOH," 3of3 said. 

"I'll print the article out for you today while you're at school," he said back to her. 

She smiled, and went back to eating her oatmeal. I offered to put her tooth back under her pillow, in case the tooth fairy spent some school hours catching up on pickups, but she said she didn't think that was very likely. 

She went off to school, and I went upstairs and got to work. I was on a conference call when Jim left for work, but I found the news article on my desk for her, printed out just like he promised. Apparently, she's so backed up FedEx has stepped in to help her out, and they're expecting possible delays of up to two days. 

Thank goodness someone in this house knows how to read the news in the morning. Also, Photoshop. 

#20CapitalistSelfie

Offered with very little comment, my daughter seems to have passed right over her fear of losing teeth, collected $5, advanced directly to 'rip them out of my face the moment they come loose.' 

She's also figured out we can talk selfies on my laptop - selfies of the teeth she's just yanked out.

This is what year nine of blogging looks like, friends. 

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Resolution

There's so much I've managed to not say here over the past few weeks. I've started and stopped my Retrospectively Introspective New Year's post like seven times so far. The long and short of it was that everything I had dreaded on New Year's Eve 2012 hadn't even crossed my mind on New Year's Eve of 2013 until I went and read the former year's post, because (I think) I have finally chosen to walk towards something rather than run from something. The running sure did make my butt look great, but it wasn't so great on the person I was. My butt looks like shit now, but I'm a better person. I am unafraid. I am happy. I am so stupidly in love. I am so stupidly loved in return.  I feel like an adult. The end.

Speaking of feeling like an adult, I got halfway through the 22nd anniversary of the last day I would be my mother's daughter/the first day of the rest of my life before I decided that 21 years had been exactly long enough for me to helicopter-parenting myself, and I just didn't need to check in with me anymore. I am past the drinking age, and have gotten most of my rebellious shenanigans out of my own system. I'm ready to wear sensible foundation garments and have a job to get up for in the morning, you know? It was what it was. I had a mother, I lost her on January 9th, and that was partly my own doing. Bygones and shit, yo.

I didn't write that post, for the first time in the nine years and two days I've been writing this blog.

I just now realized I missed my blog's 9th anniversary. On January 19th, I was staring out over the edge of the world, teaching little girls how to jump over the endlessness of eternity, gently lapping at their ankles, and teaching not so little boys how to make good sand balls and how get seagulls to actually eat the alka-seltzer. (They didn't.) (Yet.) It was lovely. I can't think of a single better way to ring in the birth of the thing that I couldn't have known would eventually lead me to this life on this coast with these people -- even if it was a completely unintentional celebration.

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Every January, I mark my own death and subsequent rebirth. I mark beginnings, I mark ends. I used to wallow in the ending and dread the beginning, and now I am in this new space where I can see them both right there in front of me, I can regard them, I can even be grateful for them, but I don't need them to hold me up anymore. I have new bookends in the story of my life; arms wrapped around me, binding the pages of my life together into something that makes sense, has an arc, and resolves.

What I Do

So I'm driving around in the car with my 13 year old and we're talking about all the random nonsense you talk about with your kids in the car; somehow we got on the subject of college, and he quite nonchalantly informs me that he isn't going to college, like ugh mom. I reach over to take his temperature, just to be sure he isn't delirious with The Fever, and then ask him oh, re-heally? This child looks at me and, with his mouth I spent nine months making for him, actually says, "Yeah, I'm just going to do what you did. You turned out fine."

He then had the honor and great privilege of being strapped into a moving vehicle he could not escape from while listening to his mother talk in very loud tones about exactly what is was that she did, and:

•   how hard it was;
•   how much cheap macaroni and cheese we ate for like ever while i was *doing it*;
•   how many nights I was up until 4am working at a bar and back up at 8am with him and his brother;
•   what it felt like to know I could do something really amazing with my life I just had no idea what it was or how to start;
•   how long I had to wait and how hard I had to look for the opportunity to get out from behind a bar and into the workforce;
•   how lucky I was that the opportunity ever came my way or that I had managed to piece together enough skills to take it when it did;
•   and how much easier my life - his life - would have been if I had ever had the opportunity to further my education.

(...and yes, I said all of that without breathing, uphill, in the snow both ways, because that's what mothers do.)

Getting from where I started to where I am was exhausting. Where I am now is exhausting in a way that waiting tables never was; the mental walls I hit every day hurt so much more than my feet ever did, but the pain is so good. I love working in Silicon Valley. I love being an integral part of the virtual revolution. I love science and I love tech and even still, I would not wish the path I took to get here on my worst enemy, or even a teenager.

No one told me to pursue more (or any) education. I never had a parent, or a priest, or a mentor who said I had to go learn more stuff. I had teachers who said it, but I didn't listen because they're teachers...they HAVE to say that. My boyfriend jokes about and/or purposely hides his "useless" liberal arts Ivy League degree but being on the other side of it, I can see in ways he'll never understand how not-useless a degree is. Knowledge, training, education - they are more than tools, they are gifts we give to ourselves. That degree is a gateway to more than just a better job or a career path - it's the gateway to the self-confidence you'll need to go out and find your place in the big wide workplace.

I'm always going to be one step behind my colleagues -- always working that much harder to keep up, to grasp the concepts, to speak the language, to figure out what they know. Even if they don't know it, I will always know it. I want my children to know better. I want them to know every single little thing about that which inspires them. I want them to drive forward, not keep up. I want them to grasp concepts as much as they grasp tasks. I want them to think differently, bigger, broader, and deeper than I did. I want them to have the gift of instruction, of education, of knowing what is out there for them, beyond what they see everyday, more than what I can teach them.

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Behind the Wheel of a Large Automobile

32.9 miles exactly how far I will walk, and by walk I mean drive, just to be the mom to keep the magic of Christmas alive in this house. 

I've been procrastinating buying my son the one and only gift he has asked for this year, the one that makes his eyes 15 year old completely-over-it-emo eyes go all -

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because I don't even know why. There is no reason. I just haven't bought it because, and now it's sold out across like America and I didn't find that out until I tried to buy it online today, 17,204 months after he told me Santa bringing it to him would make his life

Yes, Santa is still bringing him presents. The first rule of Christmas Club is we don't talk about Christmas Club. When you stop believing in Santa, he stops believing in you. Santa brings you what your heart wants the most and what his heart wants the most isn't available at a single online retailer until the Ides of March and oh my god, I don't even know what to DO.  

So what I did was start pretending that I don't know how The Internet works and I called (like, with my phone and everything) (I KNOW) every (the) Best Buy in town, and they searched every Best Buy in the city, and then I did the same thing with Target, and then I did the same thing again with Gamestop and by the power of Greyskull, it WORKED. They found one for me at a Gamestop 32.9 miles from my house. Guess how long 32.9 miles from my house takes to drive? Oh, you know, an hour and a half.

The Far East Bay giveth, the Far East Bay taketh away. 

I know it's probably not smart to be hyperfocused on one child's Christmas gift when there are five children waking up on December 25th under my roof this year, but in three years this one is off to college and he'll spend one of the two Christmases I get with him before then with his father, so this is the 2nd to last round for him and me and Santa.

This is not my beautiful wife. 

I think I'd drive a lot further than 32.9 miles if it meant I got a few more years to torment him with Christmas pictures on Santa's lap, of baking cookies to leave out, of truths we dare not speak aloud lest we break the spell of childhood magic. We've never once, not beyond his very elementary years, talked about the existence of Santa Claus - we believe unitedly in the notion that someone out there delights in delighting us, and making sure he knows that that is worth all the tanks of gas on earth.