The Other Tooth

As I reach for Elias's covers, I spy a small white object on his bed.

"Elias, did you just lose a tooth?"

"No."

I hold one of his baby molars in my hand and ask, "Did you lose it this morning?"

"No."

"Last night?"

"No." He lies down and waits for me to cover his skinny frame with the seven blankets he keeps in his loft bed. I figure he's in one of his "no--moods" where no matter what I ask those two small letters will rise from his mind to mine.

No.

"I lost it on Monday."

 "Monday? Its Thursday Bud. You lost it Monday?"

"Yep."

"And you didn't tell me? Let me see." He opened his mouth and sure enough I see a space where one of his back right premolars once stood.

No running to tell Mom.

No casual mention at breakfast Monday morning: Hey look Mom I lost a tooth.

Nothing. Not a word.

"Well, do you want to put it under your pillow for the tooth fairy?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"That's creepy."

He has a point. What does the tooth fairy do with all those millions of baby teeth collected over the years? Has she built a small city out of pearly whites? Constructed a ladder to the heavens from the decaying teeth of children long gone? Circled the world with tracks made from porcelain veneers? Filled the sky with stars made from molars, canines, and incisors polished till they shine?

Creepy is right, and I don't blame my concrete logical son for not wanting his yellowing molar to lay underneath his head for the night.

So I let go of the myth, and kiss my boy goodnight.

How often must we let go?

Is this our lesson to relive and relive, like a Ground Hog day of epiphanies hammering us in the head every time we grip too hard. When we dare act as if we know the script, as if our memorized lines will carry us through this play called life the curtain rod falls on our noggin, knocking us to the floor.

Elias is changing as I sleep.

Olive grows older with each breath.

I can't keep them in any known form, like dough molded in the pan, they are more like mist, shape-shifting with the North and South winds of biology and experience, the East and West winds of nature and nurture.

They are beyond my influence, beyond my control.

Like many girls her age, Olive loves to sing, "Let it go...let it go..."

She butchers the other lines of the song as she emulates the characters from Frozen.

"Mom come look!" Olive yanks on my arm, pulling me down the grocery store aisle to the yogurt, band aids, and cereal with Anna and Elsa plastered across the packaging.

"We don't need those Olive." My standard response.

But what makes her think we do? What is it about princesses and marketing that captures our girls?

"Mom, when can I get high heels?" She's been asking me lately, even though I don't own any except the bright blue ones I wore under my Mom's wedding dress, which have not graced my feet since 2003.

Olive's six. What am I going to do when she's 13?

And god help me if she's anything like me!

And then there's Elias.

Who will he become as he enters adolescence?

As an adult? Where will he be?

Last week his class participated in a pine car derby. With the track set up in the hallway right in front of my office, I couldn't help but join the 62 kids cheering on the handmade cars as they raced along the track. Ms. Karen helped Elias make his car-- you could claim that as advantage, or you could see it as par for the course considering the challenges Elias faces just to participate. And besides,  Elias wasn't the only student who asked for assistance in the design and creation of his wooden race car.

And guess who won?

You got it, my boy:

You just never know what to expect do you? We can't pre-write the story.

All we can do is drop our preconceived notions and go along for ride-- as we teeter between holding on and letting go.

Comments

[Kelly O.]

I love that his smile is taking up his whole face! Couldn't help but notice his hands are looking like adult hands, not little boy hands anymore. I so miss the days my boy loved his Thomas the Train and do look forward to seeing what's in store for us. But, really just miss the train days more at this stage. Having kids does truly change everything, especially our emotions.

[Danielle]

Olive will wear Converse. But in the meantimeI advise buying an old pair of heels for dress up along with all the other girlie accoutrements--hats and dresses and pearly and a three piece suit and a tie and whatever else you do not have lying around the house, dumping itin a chest, and letting her try on and try out whatever she wants to get it all out of her system. And tell her she looks great! She will figure out al by herself that the heels are wobbly and the hats blow off in a breeze, and it will mean more having come from experience. And if she occasionally wants to bust out of Alaska mode and put on red heels, go girl! AND CONGRATS ELIAS!!

[Greta]

So right

[Kate]

So true. Holding on and letting go. In all the realms. The kids. Work. All of it. Thanks for this beautiful piece.

[Christy]

been away from the computer for Spring Break and am just reading/publishing all your wonderful comments now. Thank you.

So i did just get a pair of heels that will be in her Easter basket, not for school but for playing dress up. I remember the big chest of dress up clothes that I played with as a kid and yes, Olive deserves some of her own.

And yes, Elias's hands are now bigger than mine. I've been reading early blog posts from his first three years and I miss those days. These kids just keep growing and changing and its hard to let go of the different stages.