The Tooth Fairy strikes ……

Georgia has been sporting a wobbly tooth for some time.

I can’t stand wobbly teeth, they make me throw up a little when I see them.  I have the same reaction when I see stitches being put in, stitches being taken out, or have to listen to Patricia Lewis.

I just want teeth in or teeth out.  I can’t stand the stage where kids wiggle their loose teetth with their tongue.. It is the equivalent of biting on wool for me.

See how that makes you feel – that is exactly how I feel when I see a loose tooth.

Georgia shows us the wiggly tooth last night and Kennith says: “Let me pull it out with a pliers!”

And she goes: “Okay daddy … ” and then squeals in delight.

I start cringing and hiding behind the oven – not sure why the oven, and why I was hiding, but there I was.

True as nuts Kennith gets the pliers, which was actually his Leatherman Tool (I am not doing puns about his male member, it really was one of those all-purpose tool things, that you keep in a leather pouch, on your belt …… really no puns here) and he then pulls Georgia’s tooth out.

She runs through to the kitchen (where I am still hiding) looking like she might live on the Cape Flats and she is squealing in delight – not pain, delight!

I bought her a “tooth fairy” pillow nearly three years ago, and she dug it out, and deposited her tooth in it and was ready to go to bed.

<so the tooth fairy could come earlier you see>

At that moment I realised that besides having to quickly determine what the going rate was for a milk tooth (which we decided was R25.00), Georgia was on the road heading in the opposite direction of being a baby.

Soon we would be standing in the bra aisle at Woolworths, or in the tampon and sanitary towel aisle at Pick ‘n Pay.

It has all started with her one milk-tooth popping out of mouth to make room for her first adult tooth.

It has officially started ….

It makes me smile with a bit of warmth.  It makes me sniff back a tear because the clichés are true – it does all pass so quickly.

I also got a bit scared, as she is not going to be that little gawky quirky little girl who comes and hops into our bed to give us a cuddle for much longer.  Soon she will not be doing that, soon she will be stealing the car keys and sneaking out with stinky boys.

Yes …. I know it is JUST a tooth ….

Georgia sporting the Cape Flats look …..

The Tooth Fairy pillow, much better than trying to retrieve the tooth from a shoe …. I have been hanging on to this thing for years.

Georgias was past excited, and could not wait to go to sleep ……. possibly if you  are struggling to get your child to sleep, you can start pulling teeth out and see how that works …. I am just saying.

When boys become men …..

Every now and then, I catch a glimpses that Connor is no longer a baby.

I think as a mom, it is very difficult to make that mental leap –because not that long ago I was changing nappies and breastfeeding, and carrying him on my hip – for me he is always that soft and cuddly boy with his big blue eyes. 

But the old cliché of “kids grow up” does apply – no matter how hard we fight the inevitable.

Connor is nine years old and I still get amazed at the realisation that he is not a little boy.  He is on his way to being a big boy.  Well almost a young man, and in 3 year and 8 months he will officially be a teenager –  and then I might just plats (actually it is guaranteed!).

Because Connor is the oldest in our house I put pressure on him to be the responsible one.

“Connor, please watch your sister by that step.”

“Connor, please can you go and fetch Isabelle’s bottle in the kitchen.”

“Connor, please don’t fight with your sister, let her play in your room, please.”

“Connor, are you too young to open a bottle of wine yet?”

And at the same time I admonish him when he acts like he is the “class captain” or the “house police.”

He will be the one to order his sisters around, or tell them that they are not supposed to do something.  He has even started threatening them with time out.  Often he will do this in the exact same tone of voice that he used Kennith and I use to speak to the girls.

Then we say “Connor, you do not have to be the parent here, leave that to us, okay!”

Because he is the oldest, and we have a 21 month old, mom and dad are often distracted and Connor sometimes does have to be the parent – when it is convenient to us. 

So we are forcing him to be more responsible and maybe more grown-up than he is ready to be.

I expect him to remember to get his homework book signed.  I expect that he will remember to get all his school clothes together and bring them home at the end of the day.  I expect him to remember to brush his teeth in the morning.  I expect him to remember to tell me the important piece of information from school.  I expect him to be able to find his shoes in the morning.

I expect him to … because I am too distracted attending to two smaller kids, and my life, to stand behind him and do it for him.  So I expect him to.

I expect him to be more grown-up than his nine years warrants. 

At the same time I forget to reward him for being a grown up and being moms-happy-little-helper.  He still eats with the kids and he still goes to bed at the kids bedtime.

We have a new nanny, and she said to me the other day: ”That Connor is a very respectful boy!”

And he is.  Sometimes I forget what a good guy he is.

I do need to cut him a bit of slack and remember that even though when I look at his lanky body, and his “big boy” teeth he is actually a little guy, who needs a hug from his moms (but where none of his friends will see) and a cuddle with his dad.

That being said I often get put on the back foot when he is upset and he cries.  When I look at him I see an adult.  When he has a young boy’s tears running down his cheeks, it often leaves me surprised and a bit caught off guard.

I forget sometimes that he is still a little guy, underneath all that gangliness.

On Sunday we went off to lunch at a friends, and there was a girl of twelve there.  I realize that Connor and “the girl” are not star crossed lovers, they are just two kids who like to play Playstation together. 

But when I look at “the girl” I see a girl on the edge of being a teenager, and because Connor is nearly her size I sort of clump them together in my head.

Then I looked over at the couch, and witness Connor making fart sounds with his hand in his armpit. 

I laughed and figured that maybe he is not quite ready to start dating just yet, and maybe I still have a few years of a gangly boy before I have to deal with a little man.

Mrs White in the Conservatory with the lead pipe ….

So the Mario Borthers game was collected from school on Tuesday and it was Connor’s game as it has a game history on it.  So that is not something we have to speculate over any further.

How the game got there is a mystery, but there is obvi0us relief that the game is home and I can stop looking for the stupid thing.

Connor is swearing blind that he has no idea how it got there.   I have indicated (in very measured mother tones) that he has already been punished for the game being lost, so at this point if he admits to taking it to school, he will not get into any further trouble.

But he continues to cling to his story with tears running down his pale little cheeks, as his big blue eyes stare at me pleadingly.

He did say in a rather bleating voice: “why doesn’t anyone believe me?”  which made me feel pretty sh8t all around, as I do believe him, but the game is still at school and unless fairies with teleportation skills are involved, there are not too many other options left that we have not explored up to this point.

But game is home, Connor has two weeks punishment for losing game/not looking after his things,and everyone is skipping along happily.

I feel that there is a trust issue that has been tarnished a bit – I feel I must believe Connor. 

I feel quite strongly about the truth – without getting all righteous on your arse.  Lying for me, has always had bad consequences, and of all the things we were taught that was bad, lying was the real kicker.   You could rob the bottle store, but as long as you tell the truth, you might get to keep the wine.

Lying has always been the deal breaker.  (Listen I have told a few clangers in my time, so I am not going to lie to you here and say that everything that has fallen out of my pie-hole has been as unblemished as virgin snow!)

Ido  naturally believe people – though I am a sceptic. I believe when someone says something it is the truth.  I think it is my “all or nothing” persona.  If I believe someone lies, then I will believe they are lying all the time, so I opt instead to believe that people tell the truth, until proven otherwise. 

We can talk about my niavity later.

Kids do lie, logic tells me this (and Connor sometimes lies that he has brushed his teeth when I discover, on further investigation, that he has not).  We have seen that our kids are no different and can spin a tail with the best of them.  

I just don’t want to admit that my kid might be one of THOSE kids.

Listen I totally get that in about six or seven years when Connor is lying about smoking behind the garage, decanting  my  box of wine, and explaining what the skantily glad girl is doing in his room –  this entire situation is going to be a distant memory, and a bit pedestrain actually.   I will be a lot wiser to the “real world” –  then – I get that.

But this is my first time with a nine year old, and I feel like my innocence is being cast asunder here …. cut me some slack you wordly lot.