"Would You Visit Me in Jail?"

While I’m writing this I am checking over my shoulder to see my oven smoking after what was an attempt to clean my self-cleaning oven with regular oven cleaner.  Apparently a no-no, but there’s no ‘label reading app’ for my cell phone apparently...

My six year old son Leif has many, shall we say, “facets”  (code for “personalities”).  As was displayed on Halloween, he can be a little dark, but what’s more is he tends to be a bit mischievous.  My Dad has said for quite a few years that Leif will be either “something great or something terrible”, which is probably true.   As a parent, I suppose it’s my job to ensure the former occurs, but I think I may be losing my grip on him a little.  Don’t get me wrong – he’s a good kid.  He tried to make me coffee the other day (which ended with a coffee pot full of coffee grounds, a full roll of paper towel used to clean up the mess and Me being more than a little bit cranky due to the mess/lack of coffee combination.  But he tried).  He tries to be kind to his friends, and he is always trying to make people laugh: All good qualities that I appreciate.  Every once in a while, though, I think to myself that perhaps I may have created a monster.

He has an infatuation with “bad guys”.  We know them as Rappers (bad boys to Leif), Villains (the Shredder), Romans (Jesus Killers), Burglars (Burglars), and traffic violators (Daddy).  Naturally, this infatuation leads to questions as to the fate of these “bad guys”.  Some are explained easily, for example when he asked me what happened to the Shredder if he broke the law I calmly explained that the Shredder can’t break the law because he’s not real.  After the crying stopped, I told him I was kidding and to ask his taekwondo master, because I didn’t know.

As an aside, for those of you who don’t have kids’ “passing the question buck” is a great tool to add to your arsenal.  This works especially well when the question includes a member of the family.  For example:

 Q: “Why does Grandpa smell funny?”

 A: “You should ask Grandpa”

This doesn’t always work out for the better for your child, but it does get you off the hook.  Best used in extreme circumstances for maximum hilarity.

Some questions are not brushed off so easily.  Yesterday over a beautifully prepared grilled cheese sandwich and no-name vegetable soup, Leif pondered a hypothetical future as a ward of the Canadian criminal justice system.

“So...What do they feed you in jail?” he asks, poking his spoon around in his soup.

“There is nothing wrong with vegetable soup, Leif, and I don’t appreciate you insinuating that jail food is better than this.” I reply, knowing full well it actually might be.  “They don’t feed you very good food, I don’t think you get a choice in what you eat – you just eat what they give you”.

“So if they feed me sushi, I would have to eat it?” Sushi is, by far his favourite food.

“You do not get sushi in prison.  You do not get anything good in prison.  You might get...gruel”.  I don’t actually know what gruel is exactly, but it sounds like the worst thing you could eat.  Not to my kid.

“Oh, gruel is like porridge.  I love porridge, and they have to have brown sugar...that would be okay”.

It’s quiet for a minute as he thinks all this over then looks at me with wide eyes “Mom, would you visit me in prison?”  Note the change in tone from the hypothetical to the probable.  I start to get a little concerned at this point.

“It depends on what you do.”

“So if I’m in jail for ...speeding, you’ll come visit me and bring sushi.  But what about when I’m in jail for something else?”

“Leif: What. Did. You. Do.?”

With a mouth full of grilled cheese he looks at me as innocently as he ever has and says “Nothing...nothing, I just like to know things before they happen.   If I’m good, I get out early, right?”

Note to Grade 1 teacher: Re: Pet names

Dear Mrs. B,

I am extremely sorry for the name Leif called you and the teacher’s aide.  I have spoken to Leif and he now understands it is not acceptable to refer to you as “the screw”.  I have also explained to him that you checking his desk is not considered a “raid”.

Sincerely

Colleen Copley

Toil and Trouble

There are few holidays my 6 year old, Leif, likes more than Halloween.  Always a happy go-lucky kind of kid, people who don’t already know are usually surprised when I tell them that Leif has a thing for the macabre.  In fact, his very favourite holiday is actually Easter and believe me it’s not for those little eggs from that creepy bunny.  We aren’t a religious family, but Leif is practically giddy on Good Friday, recalling to anyone who will listen the gory, bloody details of the crucifixion story.  The best part for him is not the possibility of the resurrection of a saviour but rather the multiple ways to defeat a ‘foe’ (his words, not mine).

I fully understand how twisted this sounds, and if his tendency to lean towards the dark side, as it were, was a new trait I might be more concerned, perhaps even starting to routinely scan for skinned cats in the back yard.  However, when he first saw the evil Stromboli in Pinocchio and the devilish, wild haired Ursula in the Little Mermaid, he was smitten with the idea that not everyone is good in this world. Generally speaking, being evil is way more interesting than being the stupid puppet who doesn’t even know that a fox can’t talk.

So, loving Halloween has been a natural progression for him; he gets to satisfy his dark side by thinking of nothing but evil, ghosts and goblins for the month of October and also gets to satisfy his love of the dramatic through the costume choice process, the scary movie watching and finally acting out whatever scenario he has come up with regarding the story of his final costume choice for the big day. 

This year: The Dead Man.

 “Mom, you need to stand at the bottom of the stairs”.

“Why?  You’re not throwing anything at me!  I remember this from last time!”

“No, no, not that game, Mom.  Just hurry up”.  So with much hesitation, I walk over to the stairs where he’s standing in full costume – gruesome mask, bloody clothes – all completed with pretend scars and broken bones.

“Okay Mom – here’s how it goes: I am the dead man, but I’m not dead yet.  You are witnessing my last moments.  I will walk out of my room.  You will watch me fall down the stairs.  When I am at the bottom of the stairs you will pretend I am dead.  So then I am the dead man.  Then you scream, and hopefully I will “not” become a zombie”.

And, the show commenced.  See figures 1-4.  As you can see, the dead man did, in fact, become a zombie.  I will acknowledge at this point that his costume may be a little gruesome for a 6 year old, and that things did go a little haywire when he realized there was such a thing as fake blood (my bathtub looks like the floor of a butcher shop).

The dead man emerges: alive

He falls to his demise

His last breath

Dammit Leif, Does everything have to end with a zombie?

Another one of Leif’s favourite parts of Halloween is handing out candy.  This satisfies another one of his needs: The need to be liked.  What a perfect night for a natural people pleaser; handing out candy, everyone thinking for that moment you are the greatest person on earth.  It is a strange kind of ego boost when you hear “Carmel Corn?! Awesome!”.  In no other situation would this make sense.  We live on a busy street with a ton of young families so we naturally had a lot of trick or treat-ers.  Before each group of Buzz Lightyears’ and cutesy witches Leif would practice what he would say before they came up to the door.  From my spot in the kitchen I could hear him talking to himself.

“Okay, you got this Leif.  This is what you’re going to say: Hey guys, how’s your Halloween – nice costumes.  Here’s your candy.  See ya dudes!” And, true to form, that’s what he said.  In between the next group he came up with “Hey-o! Awesome costume!  All my mom bought is Caramel Corn, hope you like it.  Have an awesome Halloween!”

And so on for over 200 kids.

Note from Grade 1 teacher Re: Halloween Costume

Dear Mrs. Copley

Please refrain from allowing Leif to bring fake blood to school.  The girls who routinely play with ‘fluffy’ the stuffed cat were quite shaken by today’s incident.

Thank you for your immediate attention to this matter.

Mrs. B

Bad Boys, Bad Boys...

My 6 year old son Leif is not exactly what you’d call a ‘cool kid’.  As I write this, he’s in his room singing an operatic version of the Jim Cuddy special on CBC he insisted on listening to.  He comes by it honestly – I was never a cool kid either, and my husband...well, my husband still thinks that it’s okay to wear the rooster sweatpants his grandmother made for him to thanksgiving dinner.  I love that he’s not cool most days; today when I made him shepherd’s pie he thanked me in a terrible Hackney English accent and called me “gov’na”.  As we all are, Leif is influenced by popular culture and tends to mix that influence with his ‘actor’ tendencies, which normally is quite endearing.  The other day I realized the influence that pop culture has on my son may be a little too strong when he proclaimed to me that his dream in life is to be a ‘bad boy’.

It was the afternoon, and I was doing the dishes listening to Leif practically scream out Justin Bieber from the office, when he came out of the room with an announcement for me.

“Mom, I want to be a bad boy when I grow up” he proclaimed as the sound of JB drifted from the next room, and Leif was doing some sort of tap dance.

“Really.  What, exactly is a “bad boy” Leif?” It is at this point I realize that I may not want to know the answer.

“You know, a bad boy – I would wear my hat backwards and stand like this!” (He starts slouching and crosses his arms in front of him).  I realize this is a modified “gangster” pose, and I sort of choke a little, considering I am not sure his dreams match up with his location.  I haven’t seen a lot of gang, or bad boy activity here in our small town.  Not to mention his love for all things glittery and musical may have a larger influence on his possible gang activity of choice.  However,  I am still not so sure what to say at this point so I proceed with caution.

“Well...what does a bad boy do?  What do you think is cool about being a bad boy?”

“Mom, come on.  You know, you get to act tough and sing really fast and you can pee in drawers”.

“Act tough? You think you need to act to-WHAT? PEE IN DRAWERS? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

“Oh, you know – like JB’s friend Ludacris? He probably does that.  It’s pretty much the worst thing you can do, and if you’re a bad boy you do bad things.  I can’t wait.”  He gives me the wink and the gun and goes back to the office.  That is obviously the official parting sentiment of current bad boys: Take that ‘west’ and ‘east’ coast hand symbols, the wink and the gun are in town.

(For those of you who do not listen to rap, or Justin Bieber, or perhaps those who are too drunk to pay attention to pop culture, Ludacris is a mediocre rapper not quite as nasty as say L’il Wayne, but not quite as annoyingly clean cut as Will Smith.  He is also a terrible speller, and definitely sometimes ‘ludicrous’)

At this point, the parenting part of my brain shuts down; I can’t quite decide where to go from here.  I am not sure if this is worth addressing, or if I am going to have some kind of surprise in my silverware drawer someday.  I yell after Leif “I will sell everything you own, including you, if you pee in my drawers” (half joking, don’t call family services).

“I know.  I’m going to wait until I’m an adult, mom”.

Later that evening as I’m putting Leif to bed, turning down CBC and giving hugs and kisses, he looks at me with his big blue eyes and says to me “Mom, I can’t wait till I’m a bad boy.  I will challenge anyone who comes my way.”

“What kind of challenge, Leif?” I question.

“MOM, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? When you challenge a bad boy, you have a bad-boy-off”.

I believe at this point, I am out of the woods.

Note to Grade 1 teacher RE: Leif’s bad boy tendencies

Dear Mrs. B

Of course we will pay for any damage to the dinosaur drawer and its contents. Please find attached a cheque for damages.

Regretfully,

Colleen Copley

Leif Gives Love a Bad Name

My six year old son, Leif, really didn’t have much of a chance from the beginning regarding girlfriends.  I met my husband in second grade and the rest is history.  Unfortunately for Leif he has also been blessed with genes that require him to beat off the little girls with a stick (and this is not a metaphor- I’ve actually seen him running away from a pack of girls on the playground wielding a stick as protection).  I honestly don’t understand the draw for these girls, though – I mean, this is the same kid that refuses to change his underwear, but I guess there’s somebody for everybody. 

There was one little girl in particular who held his attention during kindergarten last year; a sweet little thing with pigtails and just the right amount of sass to keep him interested (hopefully this trait is something he continues to look for when it actually matters).  However, no matter how sweet the girl or how in love a six year old thinks he is there are always things about the opposite sex that can quickly become tiresome.   In this case, the first of these annoyances was Pigtail’s burgeoning insecurities.

It was a sunny afternoon and Leif came home excited about his day.  I was trying to listen, but as most parents do (or I like to tell myself they do) started to tune him out, until he said this:

“Mom, [Pigtail] asked me today if I thought she was ‘hot’”.

 “Oh...really...well what did you say?”  It is at this point I am quietly making a mental note of any strange bruises or bumps that would give away what his answer had been.

“Well, I said “Why? Do you have a fever?” –I knew what she meant, but I’m not playing that game”

(cue spitting out coffee)

I really had no response to that.  What does one say to their beautiful, blue eyed child looking up from his ninja turtles colouring book while at the same time stating with such conviction, he was not, under any circumstances engaging in the games women play to get compliments. 

My larger question really was: What the hell is my husband telling this kid, and how badly am I 'accidentally' burning his dinner to punish him for it?

However, I soon realized that my husband wasn’t giving Leif pointers, as my husband is absolutely clueless when it comes to the wiles of the opposite sex (which, I suppose in a twisted way is good for me).  He actually believes that a good night out involves a six pack, a pound of hamburger, a bottle of the finest wine $6 will buy and a tin of Copenhagen (That’s really another story).

Soon, Leif was expressing his love in other ways.  One day he came home to tell me about how he and his girlfriend “made out”.  As I held back the expletives that were quickly rising along with a healthy amount of bile, I said “What EXACTLY does that mean?”

“We held hands...talked about when we get married.  You’re invited to the wedding, but I think Dad has to work”.

As all childhood romances do, Pigtail and Leif’s romance was not meant to be.  Over a box of timbits and a hot chocolate, he advised me that his fiancé and he had recently broken up.  Curious as to the reason, I asked him why.

“Well Mom, I think it was just time that we parted ways.  Time to move on.  I said that to her, but I’m not sure she understood.  She kept hugging me and then stole the play-dough”.

Note to Kindergarten teacher Re: Leif’s entrance in to the broken hearts club

Dear Mrs. C

In case you haven’t noticed, the couple of the year has since parted ways.  Leif has informed me that this has caused a few issues in class.  Acting as Leif’s legal council to ensure an amicable separation between Leif and [Pigtail] could you please monitor Leif’s access to the play –dough and division of other assets between the aforementioned couple?  My Client is also entitled to the dye-cast fire-engine and requests the full return of all ninja-turtle related toys which were his before the relationship commenced.

Thank you for your consideration in this matter,

Colleen Copley

Nerves of Nylon and Steel

My six year old, Leif, very rarely gets nervous.  He is one of those rare creatures who is always looking for the next audience, be it an audience who appreciates a good pun, fart joke or perhaps a rendition of one of his favourite Justin Bieber songs.  He also has very little tolerance for performances not up to his high six year old standards.  This lead to two related events where I, once again, did not live up to his expectations.

For the last year I have been taking classical guitar lessons.  This is not a ‘mommy needs out of the house’ hobby, I actually really love music (although mommy does need out of the house).  My guitar teacher is a very acceptable teacher: 70 year old man, who is quite hard of hearing and also sports a severe cul-de-sac hair cut.  The hair cut has little bearing on my learning, but the hearing problem may have something to do with my lagging progress.  The other problem with these guitar lessons is that I am his oldest student...by at least 15 years (I’m 25).  Twice a year I am required to participate in recitals.  This is normal; anyone who wants to play music in front of people expects, well, to play in front of people.  However, most adults don’t expect their performances to be sandwiched between the 8 year old piano student and 6 year old guitar student.

Christ Belongs in Church

For my first recital, I refused to tell any of my family or friends the exact date or time of the recital, convinced my husband to take an overtime shift at work, and figured that Leif would be a great audience.  Remember though: Great audiences also have critics.  Please note this recital was a Christmas themed event held at a Lutheran Church.

So, I get tuned up, we get situated and start listening to painful performances from these kids, their beaming parents either videotaping or sitting at the edge of their seats like they’re watching the next Beethoven.

(Believe me, not one of these kids has a hope in hell.  I seriously doubt any of them will even be the next Sanjaya, and that’s saying something.  This led me to question myself as a parent during this time: Do I applaud when Leif churns out crap too?  I’m not for breaking a child’s spirit, but really – some of these performances were awful).

 So, my turn rolls around after an 8 year old pounds out something that was supposed to be Silent Night on a piano that did no harm to anyone before that night.  I nervously walk up on stage, sit down and play a respectable classical version of We Three Kings.  Until the last note.  The last note of this song is one which should ring through a crisp winter’s eve, whereas mine sounded something like the donkey that was likely braying over Jesus during his birth.  Not good. 

What was worse: when my trucker’s mouth took over.  “CHRIST!” I thought I muttered.

What was worse: when I tried to hit the note again. 3 TIMES. 

Realizing the time to give up, I stand up, take a bow, and avoid eye contact with the very, very unimpressed faces of the parents staring at me, all the while catching this on their video cameras to be immortalized for the rest of their children's lives.

After the recital, my guitar teacher came over, patted my hand and gave me some pretty good advice.

“Colleen, you did a good job.  Next time, please don’t swear in church while you’re beside a microphone”.  Thanks – I thought you were deaf.

Leif also had some good advice for me that night on the way home.

“Mom, you did good, but do you know how you could do better?  Don’t make mistakes.  Music always sounds better when you don’t make mistakes”.

Note to Kindergarten Teacher Re: Leif’s language in class

Mrs C.

I received your note regarding Leif’s usage of the word ‘Christ’ in class.  We have decided to praise the Lord at every occasion, and have suggested he do the same.  I realize that you may not have been aware that we are a religious family, considering we have never been to church, but that is beside the issue.  I apologize if you feel that the context in which he’s using the word indicates that it is profane, however I feel that you are infringing on his religious freedom and ask you to cease immediately. 

Christ be with you

Colleen Copley

Don’t Be Nervous

The spring recital started very much the same as the Christmas recital.  Unfortunately, it ended similarly as well. 

Sitting beside me, and getting a little fidgety Leif turned to me.

“Mom, are you nervous?”

“Um, no...Well...I wasn’t...”  I am starting to question myself.

“Well, I would be.  I would be really nervous”.  He’s looking me dead in the eye now, and I am really wondering if I should be doing this.

“Oh, really?  Why?”

“Well, look at all these people.  They might laugh at you if you mess up.  They might not clap.  They might even boo.  That would be bad.  I would be nervous.  But don’t worry, I’ll always love you”. 

And now, it’s my turn to play.  Walking up, I am sweating like a hog, from parts of my body that don’t normally sweat.  I am shaking like an underfed Chihuahua and I am staring at all the familiar frowning faces from the aforementioned Christmas debacle.

Needless to say, I did not play well and dragged Leif out as soon as I was finished.

Email from Guitar teacher Re: Spring Recital

Colleen,

I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye after the recital.  I noticed you ran out quite quickly.  Hope everything’s okay.

K.

PS:  You may want to get your perspiration problem checked out.  I was quite concerned when I noticed you using your sheet music to wipe your forehead.

The Sponsor Child Debacle

My 6 year old, Leif, says some pretty outrageous things sometimes.  This is not a case of “kids say the darndest things” where snot-nosed kids with missing teeth and too much hair gel tell Mr. Cosby one-liners that their parents made up for them.  This is a case of Leif knowing what gears to grind and which side of the fence to be on at any given moment.  This is coupled with the fact that I only find it amusing about 10% of the time: when he is directing his wit and wisdom toward someone else.  Sometimes his coloured commentary is just talk; sometimes, though...sometimes I have no choice but to take action on his words.  This is exactly why I am (grudgingly) the “proud” sponsor parent of a needy child on the other side of the world.

About 3 months ago, in June this year, I was furiously whipping up a gourmet meal of sodium-laden, definitely not organic or free range frozen chicken fingers and French fries, when the doorbell rang.  For those of you who may not have a home I will explain something to you: when you are not expecting anyone and the doorbell rings at supper time it’s probably someone you don’t want to see selling something you don’t want to buy.  Which is why I answered the door (I have a problem with door to door salespeople: I can’t say no.  I honestly almost converted our family to Mormonism once because I couldn’t say no to the missionaries. At the time, I thought it might be easier than telling them to go away).  The doorbell is a trigger for Leif, signalling another opportunity to entertain a completely new and unsuspecting audience.  We were racing to the door, and lo and behold a friendly young man holding a clipboard was standing in front of us.

“Hello ma’am, I’m a volunteer with (insert sponsor-a-child charity here), and I’d like to offer you the opportunity to sponsor a needy child in another part of the world”.  First mistake, buddy: do not ever call a 25 year old “ma’am”. 

“Well...”

“It is less than a dollar a day, and you will dramatically change the life of a child and their family” (This by the way is a lie- it actually costs $35.00 a month- you do the math)

“Well...” Okay, get some balls, girl, and tell this guy no. “We already have our charities picked out for the year, and I really don’t think we can fit in another one...” Nice- makes you sound socially conscious while saying no. Good answer.  Instead of leaving though, friendly volunteer pipes up again.

“It really is an affordable way to help a family. Remember ma’am, you are spending less than the cost of a coffee a day and making such a difference.” (Strike two for “ma’am”).

“Nooooo... really, no.  But thank you.” I start to move towards the door and friendly volunteer starts to back away.  I am almost out of the woods here.

Cue Leif:

“Mom, you drink Tim Horton’s coffee EVERY DAY.  You can afford a dollar a day for a child’s well being.”

Needless to say, friendly volunteer saw his opening and like a vulture to a carcass was shoving that clipboard back in my direction, all the while laughing his Good Samaritan ass off.  As he’s doing this I look at Leif and inform him that if he does not go downstairs he will regret it for the rest of his life.  Still smiling, relatively smugly if I might add, friendly volunteer gets back to business.

“What country would you like to pick?  Do you have a gender or age you prefer?”

“Does it really matter at this point?” I defeatedly reply as I hand him my credit card.

Cue smoke alarm signalling my (now) burnt chicken fingers.  I wonder at this point if this may be a metaphor for my life.

Because I didn't pick a child, he gave me one he said he was having a hard time getting rid of, and I'm not going to lie - I did chuckle when I read her information card for the first time.  This well known Christian charity is sending our sponsorship money to a little Palestinian girl in the West Bank. 

Welcome to the family Aseel Ahmad Mustafa.  Since you are so well fed and no longer have to spend your days collecting water, I am expecting my letter any day now.

 As for Leif, no good deed goes unpunished.

Note to Kindergarten Teacher Re: Show and Tell

Dear Mrs. C,

I understand that it is Leif’s show and tell today.  We have recently had a slight economic downturn in our house due to an unexpected monthly bill.  Consequently, Leif will be bringing the same thing to show and tell for the rest of the year, as he likely won't have any new toys to bring.

I hope you enjoy his presentation on our family’s new sponsor child.

Colleen Copley

The Tooth Fairy Fail

My son, Leif, is 6.  As many other six year olds he has started to lose those pesky baby teeth, effectively reducing his chewing capacity to whatever he can grind with only his molars.  This new rite of passage in his life has also led to the diminishing weight of my wallet. 

We have decided to participate in the decades old tradition of the 'Tooth Fairy'.  For those of you who do not have children, or who had crappy parents who drank all their spare change away (by crappy, I mean brilliant), I will explain said tooth fairy concept: Child loses tooth.  Child places tooth under pillow.  Parent sneaks in to room.  Parent extracts tooth from under child's pillow.  Parent replaces tooth with money - no set denomination. Child wakes up at 6 am with boundless energy and endless ideas on how to spend their pittance.  Parent smiles, tells them how cool it is and forfeits coffee due to lack of change.  Fin.

Not so, in my house.  This was how Leif's second tooth fairy experience went:

4:00 pm: Leif draws 3 pictures for the tooth fairy- one of him with a gappy tooth grin, one with a tooth smiling around a pile of money and one of a ninja turtle.  Leif contemplates keeping the ninja turtle picture, but decides that it will get him a little extra cash.

7:30 pm: I tuck Leif in: kisses, hugs, and another day of Robert Munsch.  Leif advises me he has his tooth secured with his pictures on his headboard, so the tooth fairy can find it.  This is good, I will be able to find it in the dark.

12:05 am: I turn the handle on his door, creeping slowly in to his pitch black room.  The kid has his radio BLARING CBC radio.  Nothing like dreaming about Rita McNeil.  I am so distracted by Rita and her coal miners, I trip.  Regaining my composure I stop, like a burglar waiting for the alarm, I wait for him to stir, but he doesn't wake.  This is perfect.  I stroll over to his bed, a little less carefully now, knowing he's sleeping soundly and reach to the place where he left his tooth and pictures at bedtime...only THEY AREN'T THERE.  I reach under his pillow and I find nothing, same thing on his night stand.  I creep to the other side of his bed and reach under his pillow, rolling him over at the same time and I find, once again, nothing.  I can't think straight with Rita screeching in my ear, so I reach over to his radio and turn it off.  As soon as I do, Leif wakes up.

"Mom, what are you doing?"
Looking around and feeling guilty for some reason, I reply "Nothing Leif, just making sure you're asleep"
"Well I was until you woke me up"
"Ok, night bud..." And I sneak back to bed.

Laying in bed, I realize that I am going to have to try again, no matter how dangerous the mission.  All of a sudden I hear my door.

"Mom, the tooth fairy didn't come yet"
"Leif, it's too early- the tooth fairy doesn't come until you're fast asleep.  Now, get back to bed"
"Okay, but please don't come in my room while I'm sleeping again- that's super creepy".
Thanks jerk, I'll remember that the next time you want another Ninja Turtles DVD.

12:20: I decide enough time has passed, and I will once again attempt to find this tooth.  Now it's a matter of principle.  I slip back in to his room, and try the bookshelf attached to his headboard.
"MOM WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE AGAIN?!"
"Uh...er...checking to make sure you're asleep..."
"I was sleeping, until you came back in to my room.  This is weird.  I'm trying to sleep"
I walk out.  I have been defeated.

7:45 am:  Leif is eating, pancakes because they're soft and won't get stuck in his gappy mouth.  He looks a little sad.
"Mom, the tooth fairy didn't come.  I think it was because I kept getting  up and moving my tooth"

I thank god I still have change for coffee.

Note to Grade 1 Teacher Re: Lost Tooth

Dear Mrs. B

Leif is concerned you won't believe him that he lost a tooth, so I am writing this note to inform you that, in case you didn't notice the giant gap in his gums, Leif has, in fact, lost a tooth.
He wanted to bring it to school but I object to carrying biological waste to school, therefore you will have to take my word for it.

Have a nice day
Colleen