It's OFFICIAL....

I am......a Tooth Fairy. It's a monumental step, but also an emotional one. My baby is growing up ......and I am getting old.

When I was a kid, the going rate for a tooth was 50 cents. These days, according to my 5 year old, the Tooth Fairy leaves Star Wars toys. Who knew the tooth fairy got a raise?? I tried to explain to him that Santa is the one who leaves toys, the Easter Bunny leaves chocolate, and the Tooth Fairy leaves money. His response: "what am I supposed to do with money?" Trust me kid, that is the LAST question you will be asking when you get older.

(Apparently, we are failing, as parents, to teach him the value of a dollar. This will be our next project)

It's moments like these that make me cherish the time I have with my children while they are young. While they still get excited about these silly, precious moments. The fact that they still need me to guide them & nurture them (and help them wash their bloody tooth off so the tooth fairy "doesn't get grossed out"). I am excited for their future, but also mourn the loss of what will never be again. The "firsts" that can never be redone. It's moments like these that make me wonder if I want to have another baby, just because all these milestones absolutely melt my heart.

Then, I think about the hysterics of my 2 year old this morning while I was trying to get her dressed. The tears I shed because all I wanted to do was get out of the house on time. The sucker punch to the throat I received while trying to change her diaper. The note sent home from school yesterday because my 5 year old just can't seem to pay attention in music class. The 8 times I had to scream at my children to get out of the kitchen while I was trying to cook dinner. The vacuum cleaner that died yesterday because it gets used too often (and the 2yo carpet still needs to be replaced). The piles of laundry that never seem to get done......or folded.....or put away. My house which is never clean.....or organized. The Valentine's Day dinner I made for my husband that was eaten standing at the counter, while our toddler tried, frantically, to rock climb both of us. The date nights we never seem to get, the "alone" time that we spend in a semi-comatose state on the couch.

Oh yes, these days are precious, and fleeting. And I want to remember them. Always. However, right now I am focusing my sights on that light at the end of the tunnel. It is flickering. Like some kind of dim nightlight. I'm waiting for it to become more of a homing beacon.