My Tooth Fairy Impression...

Did you know the tooth fairy needs help sometimes?

Well she does. Shame on you. You should have known that. <Tuts>

And when the tooth fairy needs help Team Parent (yay!) step in. It's the least we can we do.

We take on all the risk and funding (we what?) and make sure the job gets done.

Like the hard working, grown up, professionals we are...

Night, night, my lover!

Mrs. Amazing: 'Night muppet'

Pardon?

Mrs. Amazing: 'Night darling'

Oh... Night!...

<Both just drifting off>

[Silence in the house]

<Both sit bolt upright> TOOTH FAIRY!

Teeth falling out of your kids mouth is really weird.

I know kids are cute and all that. So it's kind of OK. But really it's pretty freaky.

Did you know you get born with your adult teeth in your skull-mouth?

Then as you get older. Six-ish for Boy10. The adult teeth suddenly decide it is their time, their moment in the saliva, and they push the baby teeth out. To their deaths obvs, and then take over. Which is why the baby teeth fall out. The adult ones kill them.

Weird huh!

(This is what children have in their heads. True story

(Kill it!... Kill it fire!)

Boy10 is running out of baby teeth.

Dentist said so. Which is cool. They are falling out due to natural causes. Not because of his daily sugar lick. Natural causes. Violent adult teeth. Plus Boy10 is getting older.

The huge holes in his toothy smile are starting to be filled in. With big teeth. Which is a bonus for photos 'spose.

And Boy10’s time and delight in making Mrs. Amazing squirm as he twists and pulls on his loose teeth is running out. Ha ha. #SoProud.

My boy's getting all grown up and stuff.

<Doesn't cry> <Heads off to chop stuff and hit it with hammers>

Twenty baby teeth.

Apparently everyone gets twenty visits from the tooth fairy for their baby teeth. If you're lucky and get punched in the face, maybe twenty one.

But that twenty is assuming the tooth isn't lost, stolen, sold for Pokeman cards, isn’t still stuck in the toffee that ripped it out, or wasn't sadly swallowed.

So if you are wondering how much money the tooth fairy is likely to be leaving your darling child. Remember it's that times twenty.

And don't (do not) underestimate the frowns from me, I'll come find you you may get in the playground when your child proudly declares that the tooth fairy left them a pony £5 note...

Boy6: 'Daddy why did I only get £1?'

<Mouths to 'Generous' parent> I will kill you We all hate you right now!

<Turns to Boy6> ... well... because whilst some people value money above all other things...

<Gives frowny, head shaking double eyebrow, not us, look>

Some other people, know that it's the free things that are worth the most.

Boy6: '...'

Boy6: 'Not me. I prefer the cash'

<Checks pockets> I've thirteen pence, old gum, and a voucher for thruppence off a burger

Boy6: 'Thank you' <Takes it all>

<Is gutted about the burger voucher>

Anyhoo...

It was after midnight.

I was tired out. Proper, so tired out that you have to go to bed even later, because you're so tired, and just getting up and going to bed is tiring. I had also been to ninja training class and moving was proving quite impossible.

I had laid for ages in the bath. Planning and plotting exiting the bath and making it the two, maybe, three meters, from the bath to Team Parent (yay!)'s bed.

Eventually I am forced out by uber cold bath water.

Now tired and very cold.

I collapse into bed and in a moment of surprising memory and clarity, for me.

I remember Boy10 saying his tooth had fallen out six hours before. In the very brief window I had this evening to talk to him and he had shown me his missing tooth.

BOOM! Six hours later, past midnight I totally remembered it.

But knowing Mrs. Amazing would never forget something as important as a tooth fairy.

I asked her if helping the tooth fairy had gone well...

[From beneath pillows]

Mrs. Amazing: 'OH MOD! Mi mavn't mone mit!'

Ooooo... you best do it now then... <Lies down ready to sleep like a tired out log>

Mrs. Amazing: 'Moo mo mit!'

I always wake him up when I do it! Don't make me do it!

Mrs. Amazing: 'SNORE SNORE SNORE'

...

You know... saying snore out loud actually proves

Mrs. Amazing: 'SNORE SNORE SNORE'

... whatever… FINE! I'll do it...

Mrs. Amazing: 'Snorrrrre snoorrrreeee good luck snooore'

<Gives Mrs. Amazing frowny look as I pull on Star Wars joggers>

In the second I leave my own bedroom.

My mind starts working through what needs to be done. The highs and lows. And where my concerns are.

I have immediate problems…

1) I have no money on me at all.

Nadda. I rarely have cash on me now. Which is fine by me except for two occasions. Now obvs. And when I am taking Miss6 swimming and I don't have change for the lockers. But that's also normally fine as most places will let you buy a quid in change with your swimming.

Even my arch nemesis, the scottish cow-bag woman from my local leisure center. Even she, satan's first wife, now has to agree to handing over a quid to me. ...I digress.

I have no pound for Boy10.

(Would a pound of potatoes do?

Mrs. Amazing: ‘Nope. And put those back’

Sure… <Runs>)

2) All the floors in our house squeak.

Especially late at night when I am sneaking. Then it's as if the original architect placed fog horns every few inches of floor boards. But repeating ones. I swear some creaks 'go off' even when I’m nowhere near.

It takes all my ninja skills just to get down the hall without sounding like an elephant's clog dancing class.

3) We don't know the tooth is.

O’PLUCK. This is quite a big problem. As the last tooth. Which the tooth fairy collected herself, we didn't have to help or pay that time.

Well that tooth Boy10 had placed on top of his alarm clock, and it was only blind luck that the tooth fairy found it. That and her innate sense of teeth detection obvs.

So where on earth in his room had Boy10 put this tooth? With a bit of luck, a strong head wind, and fresh horse, I was going to find the tooth under his pillow.

Where which is where Team Parent (yay!) have always said pushed fallen teeth should be placed.

4) It’ll be right in the middle.

If Boy10 has put his tooth under pillow. Then he would have put it exactly in the middle of the pillow. RIGHT under his head. Just to really test the tooth fairy or her helpers. Whoever they may be, this cold, exhausting, late night.

<Grumbles>

5) The tooth fairy always leaves glitter.

Well she’s a fairy. Of course she leaves glitter behind her. If Team Parent (yay!) are helping out then we try our best to mimic what she would do. And luckily Mrs. Amazing always knows where some glitter is. Or she just has on her, magically.

Sadly Mrs. Amazing is now utterly fast asleep. And whilst my knowledge of where glitter is kept is low.

There’s always hope.

So with five clear problems to solve.

I leap into action and stood in the hall for a bit. Being undecided. Getting cold.

Then I went and double checked my trousers for a quid. Still nope. 7 pence only.

Which would work fine on Miss6 and BabyBoy3, as they are shinny. And that's all those two want. Boy10 not so much. He is no longer fooled by shiny things.

He wants wonga.

Then a brain wave hit me.

Ow. The swimming bag! Downstairs is the bag me and Miss6 always take swimming with us. That has her goggles in, some shampoo, a bastard useless comb that is only strong enough to move my arm hairs about.

AND TADADADADTAAAAA a pound we keep in the bag for the lockers.

Which I've realised I took and haven't replaced yet. Crap!

<Runs off to replace the pound mi…..d typing>

One problem down.

Four to go. The squeaky floors I am just going to have to do my best about.

Move slowly. Like a ninja.

CREEEEEEAKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

... be stealthy...

CREEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

... move like the badger Cat...

CREEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

... or just hope they don't wake.

The glitter I search for.

And amazingly find! Amazing! But as I tip a little into my hand. I spill it. And then have to clear it up. Which isn't easy. And really I just want to leave it.

But then Boy10 may notice the glitter mess. Put two and two together. AND BOOM! Childhood ruined.

Grumbling I sweep up a little bit of glitter.

(Mrs. Amazing: ‘Where’s Miss6?’

No idea, haven’t seen her for a while?

Last I saw of her, she took some pens, some pipe cleaners and glitter up her room…

But that two hours ago...

Mrs. Amazing: ‘WHAT??? OH NO!!!’

<Both run, are way too late>

As for the tooth's location.

I sneak into Boy10's room with my phone, and use it's lovely glow to check a few places.

CREEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK-KKKK-KKKKKK-KKKKKKKKKK

Nothing. Darn it.

I'll have to assume he has put it under his pillow.

And the final problem.

Boy10's head is exactly in the middle of the pillow. Exactly on top of where he may have put the tooth. Of course he's got two pillows tonight. So I've got double checking to do.

OMFB! I wish Mrs. Amazing was doing this and I was still in bed fast asleep.

If Boy10 wakes Mrs. Amazing is an expert at distracting Boy10 and then still managing to deliver the payload.

Me. I'm gonna panic. Shove the coin up his nose, fall off the bed, and get a pillow stuck on my head.

I am not confident.

After much assessing.

Planning and thinking about how best to do this. With only one hand. As the other has glitter in it. I try to very stealthily sneak my hand under Boy10's pillow without waking him.

And obv. as I am sure you have already guessed. It is not possible.

You cannot check for something under someone's head, without moving their head. Maybe with some more time and a little inflatable balloon. You could.

But I'm cold and completely out of little inflatable balloons. I try again on the other side.

It goes worse somehow. As Boy10 sleep moans and moves a little. Not away from the centre of the pillow. Obvs. Just a wriggle about.

Then like a rabbit in the headlights.

The worst happens. I am stood with my hand half under his pillow. Coin in the searching hand. Glitter in the other. Praying that Boy10 doesn't open his eyes.

But yeah, come on, you know. You know what happens next.

Say it with me... Boy10 opened his eyes!

CRAP-O-SMEG!

What did I do?

Well I did what any parent in that situation should do. Well maybe not any. I did what a parent like me would do in that situation.

I gave Boy10 a few moments of utterly, confusing, head-moving about sensations that may terrify and disorientate him for the rest of the night.

I panicked took a calculated risk.

I grab one side of Boy10’s pillow and yank it up.

So Boy10's head is forced to roll away. Then hand with coin in it, reach in, and YES there's something there! But I am in the dark.

So I swop the coin for whatever is under the pillow. Drop the pillow down. A bit too quickly.

Boy10's head lurches back into the middle.

But I am not done.

I then grab the other side of the pillow and pull it up. Sending Boy10's head rolling the other way. Poor lad. Ha ha.

Now with hand with glitter in it free. I throw the glitter in. Let's hope it went somewhere near the coin. I'll never know. I drop the pillow and Boy10's head rolls back into the centre.

Boy10 is now probably confused and wondering what the hell is going on.

And what's the smeg is Dad doing in here?

Shoving what I found under his pillow into my jammies.

I give Boy10 a big hug and say it's OK. Just go back to sleep.

Boy10 is pretty confused and fluttered. No idea why. But really he is mostly asleep.

And in moments, with a bit of a hug, and head tap, closes his eyes once more.

I wish him good night.

And leave the room.

CREEEEEE-EEEEEE-EEEEEAAAAAKKKKKK

The moment I am sure I am safe. I check what it is I got from under his pillow. Thank Bacon and cake and chocolate. It's the tooth.

<Does victory dance>

(My quest is complete... <drops sword>

… I have returned victorious... <drops shield>

now... I can rest…

<Plays on phone for a bit first>)

I get back into my bed.

Pretty pumped. Really frikkin' proud of myself. Rushing really. YEAH!

Tooth fairy work done. I don't think Boy10 will ever know it was me.

YEAH!

Bursting to tell someone.

I nicely jostle see if Mrs. Amazing is awake to tell her the amazing news.

She isn't as excited as I am about it...

I did it! I got the tooth! TADA!

Mrs. Amazing: '... good... Zzzzz...'

YEAH! <Self high-fives> YEAH!

<Struggles to sleep for ages>

X

You Want to Buy What?...

Boy8 has been earning money.

Which is about time cool I can retire!.

Nothing wrong with earning a bit of cash for fun and hijinks.

But it does present one slight problem.

What does an eight year old spend his money on? Money that he has earnt and is therefore free to do with as he pleases. Well not pleases. He is eight, there has to be a bit of parental checking. But mostly whatever he wants, because we want to teach him that working for money gets him stuff...

You want WHAT?

Boy8: 'I just thought I would try it ... I might like it'

But it's utter, utter, crap!

Boy8: 'Come on Dad it's not as though I'm asking to buy the Beiber album'

<Heart flutters> Yeah I suppose… <breathes through it>

But still?... you really want that?

Boy8: 'Yes'

Fine… But I think it's a waste of money

Boy8: 'So you've said'

And crapola...

Boy8: 'Yes. You said. Still. I like it!'

And that's all that counts... isn't it?

Boy8: 'I don't understand... Why are you so against DC comics. You love Batman!’

<Looks away>

Boy8: 'He's DC!'

<Mutters> Only in name…

Look we hate all DC because... because... er… well they suck to start with…

and er… the Green Lantern! <Points>

It's very complex. You won’t understand. So go enjoy your non-Stan Lee, tiny, poorly formed, it's only Batman and Supes that sell it really, where's Spidey? Huh?, DC Universe...

Boy8: 'I shall. And I will love it!' <Eyeballs me>

Good I hope you do you... <I don’t>

<Both huff off>

Actually what he wanted to buy was a NERF gun. Thank bacon.

Which is a plastic toy gun that fires foam bullets. They are a right laugh to play with. I know.

They’re mostly safe. You'd have to try to hurt yourself with them really. But then that’s what Miss5 and BabyBoy1 regularly do. With everything.

Still, me, Boy8 and Miss5 have had many good laughs playing with NERF guns.

I have my own pistols for... work… purposes  <Does shifty eyes>

(Boss: ‘Office inspection!’

No! No! Don’t come in here!

Boss: <Gasps> ‘It’s… it’s… beautiful’

You’re not cross?… the trip wire!….

<NERF boom>

Ow <Removes bullet from nose>

<Removes bullet from bosses nose>)

I (me) don't think playing with TOY guns is a bad thing.

I’m of the thinking that if you take away the guns, they use sticks, take the sticks away, they point and cast magic spells on each other. And surely we have all learnt the dangers of stopping children casting magic spells from Frozen (that was the moral I promise).

Also I live in UK and there are very few real guns about.

We have them at airports, armed Corgis at Buckingham Palace, around London hidden under pillar boxes, farmers have shotguns that fire salt (some fire pepper) and there’s the odd gun club hidden away in a tiny village. Oh and Scouts tend to get to fire 2.2 rifles for fun when camping.

But that's it. Years can elapse between seeing a real life gun in my world.

So Boy8 isn't going to come into contact with real guns unless he is very naughty at the Queen, joins an 18+ rifle club, goes camping with the Scouts, or goes abroad where everyone has them.

So playing with toy replicas, IMHO, is fine as long as it's done in a safe and reasonable way.

And by reasonable I mean:

No head shots.

No other head shots.

No re-enacting death scenes from films he shouldn't have seen yet. And definitely no smegging executions. Yuk.

No aggression. The moment it stops being fun, it stops.

No shooting at Miss5 or BabyBoy1 (unless they are shooting at you).

No making me spill my tea.

No leaving loaded guns around for Miss5 and BabyBoy1 to find. I don't want to have to talk BabyBoy1 down from the chocolate cupboard.

No sitting about just holding a gun. That’s weird.

No running into the room and shouting 'Say hello to my little friend' and then wiggling your todger at us. That's my party piece.

No cackling. Soft or otherwise.

No shooting the cat. I am not sure why.

And no shooting either of Team Parents (yay!) early anytime in the morning as you may get NERF bullets shoved up your nose. Or worse.

Basically, you play nicely, happily and in good spirits. It's fine.

Much like crickets 'Spirit of the game', behave like a gentleman and we can all have fun.

However he wanted this...

(You need it because you’ve heard the U.S.A. have started arming their bears?...

Boy8: <Nods>

Do I need to get two one?

Boy8: <Nods>)

It's not very 'Spirit of the game' is it? It's more ‘Spirit of Death and Destruction'.

I know what you're thinking.

Just say no. If you don't want the shooty thing in the house. Just say no.

And I would very happy doing that. I can live with the endless hours of Why??? and tears? The stairing. The pleading.

That does not daunt me.

But it’s his money.

Boy8 worked hard for this. Washed cars, cleaned out rabbit poo, hoovered cars, and missed out on fun to earn money. He worked for his money. I’d be annoyed if someone told me what to do with my peanuts money. Same applies.

One day Boy8 should will become a man.

Then he will have to make his own decisions about what to spend money on, and why. So why not let him start now?

Even if his decisions are dumb gunney.

Of course Team Parents (yay!) met to discuss this.

We needed to check we were both fine about what Boy8 was about to bring into the house.

We have to consider Miss5, BabyBoy1 and the cat as well.

Mrs. Amazing had the same thoughts as me, he worked for it, he should be allowed to get it. He just better not shoot the crap out of us, all the time, every day.

Bullets up the nose and all that.

Anyhoo... It was ordered. It arrived. And I returned from work to this…

(That is not setting the table… Where's the chocolate bowl?)

Bit of a shock.

I found this weird to come home to. It's like something from a film.

I half expect to find him covered in camo-paint and flicking my clipper open and shut.

He was not doing that.

Instead though, he is really, REALLY, excited to tell me all about his new gun!

What each bit does, how it does it, why it does it, and all the different combinations it can do. And there's a lot. And he tells me over and over. It's really sweet.

It lovely to be around Boy8 when he is that excited about something.

Then because he's eight and really wants his Dad's (he did the same for his Mum earlier) approval, he asks me to have a go.

He offers his new and favourite toy and asks me to have a go. I don't like to be rude....

It is fun.

But I still hate the smegging thing.

As me and Boy8 talk about each part.

I realise that I know lots about guns and how they work. In fact a shed-load (Standard UK measurement). And I'm not a gun fan. I'm more of a hugger. <HUG!>

But I knew the names and use, for almost every part of his new death device toy.

Boy8: ‘What's this bit called Dad?’

Er that?... er... That’s a Drive-Socket-Blammer... it helps stop the bullets from wibbling about...<Is lying>

Boy8: ‘Really?’

Uh-huh. Blamo for short...

<Avoids Mrs. Amazing's eye>

I even knew why the bore (the tubey bit the bullet goes down) is all twirly (twirlyington) as though I was Leon a sniper rifle expert.

Which I am not. But it got me thinking...

Brazilla: 'OH NO! WHY! Don’t think! It hurts! I’m knackered!!!’

Brazilla: 'I'll make your leg hurt if you do!'

<Limps off>

Where has all my gun knowledge come from?

It's fair to say Commando, Highlander, Pulp Fiction, Full Metal Jacket, Platoon and Bambi (<Rifle crack>, 'Mother? Mother?') would account for some bits.

But the ingrained, almost second nature, understanding of guns? That can only come from long discussions, in depth, about a subject and I haven’t done that about guns since I was nipple knee high to a grasshopper (You're a very large grasshopper?), eight-ish, nine-ish, ten-ish.

Possibly just about the same age as Boy8's is right now...

<Penny wiggles about a bit, wobbles, leans one way, leans the other>

<Finally drops> <Plop>

O... This is important to him...

Brainzilla: ‘Ya lemon...’

Even so.

I'm not enjoying having the gun in the house except when it’s my go. It feels wrong.

Yes I know it's plastic. But it's aggressive plastic. It's let's kill everyone plastic.

I don’t like the power trip holding it gives him.

I don’t like that he can’t sleep with it in his room.

I don't like that Boy8 carries about it, from room to room. As though it's a teddy.

I don't like he watches me through the snipe scope.

I don’t like that it’s huge on him.

And I especially don't like it when he has it resting on the ground. Gun legs down for maximum stability. Long range sight on for precision. Waiting for his poor tired out Dad to innocently walk into the room trap...

<Is happily skipping and singing> Because I am liv-ing, in a mat… Back in black, I hit the sack...

<The trap is sprung>

OW! OW! OW! No head shots!

Boy8: <Giggles>

OW! OWWWWW! Ooooof! Fowl! Not there either!

Boy8: <Quiet cackling>

<Ducks for cover>

...

<Sound of a gun out of bullets>

<Re-emerges from cover> Oh-ho!

O dear, dear, dear, dear! Out of ammo huh? MY TURN... <Picks up two cushions>

I prefer the lower calibre approach... <Pats cushions menacingly>

Less chance of running out of bullet... <Big smile>

<Opens can of soft-cushion-whoop-ass on Boy8> <Spills it...>

Boy8: <Click> 'I have a spare clip you know'

I did not know that...

<Does Sundance Kid style rush into the rain of bullets, cushions in hand...>

(Who the devil are you? How did you get into my house?

Mr. Newman: 'I’m Paul! Hi!' <Waves> <Shoots>)

X