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Tooth Fairy Chronicles, Part 1: Finkmeister is a Jackass

Monday, June 27, 2016 Finkmeister, Kids are RAD, Scandalous Parenting, So That Happened, Throwback, WTFparenting Permalink

While I’m away, on vacation, I thought it might be nice to revisit some old friends. Or rather, old enemies. This post is Part One of the Tooth Fairy Chronicles, as originally published on Snickerpants.com.

***

Catfish lost a tooth yesterday. By my count, he has lost seven hundred and twelve teeth this year. Not a fortnight goes by where we don’t have some sort of Tooth-Fairy related emergency. I swear to God that kid has the mouth of a shark.

While the newness of “Yay! You lost a tooth!” has worn off for Brian and I, he still does his Christmas-Morning-Touchdown-Victory dance every time he pops a damn incisor. I can’t blame him, I remember being giddy to the point of insanity about the Tooth Fairy.

Last night, as I watched Brian wrapping the tooth in endless layers of paper toweling (so it would be easier to find under his pillow later) I thought to myself:

“If I don’t write a note about that, we are totally going to forget about the Tooth Fairy this evening – and that will suck, hard core.”

You can guess what happened next…

At seven this morning, I heard a heartbroken and downtrodden Catfish telling his father that the Tooth Fairy did not visit him during the night. He was so sad he wasn’t even crying.

Brian covered as best he could, saying it was probably because he lost the tooth while he was at school camp (which was true) and that She (the Tooth Fairy) probably thought he was still there (instead of coming home yesterday afternoon). While he agreed that this was plausible, Catfish was still mightily disappointed. He trudged upstairs to repeat his tale of woe to me. I backed Brian’s story and gave him a hug.

I felt like a complete ass.

I’m pretty sure Brian felt like an ass too. He takes these things hard.

Later on, I sat at my computer, trying to write but unable to because I felt like such a jerk about the damn Tooth Fairy. No sooner did I focus on my story when my mind wandered away. The general gist of these wanderings being: You know what would be super cool? If he came home and there was a note from the Tooth Fairy, explaining what happened.

At some point, the part of my brain that still believes in bullshit like the Tooth Fairy, began dictating a letter to me.

I wrote it out three times, once on the computer (to get the story right) and twice more on printer paper. The computer paper versions were frustratingly inadequate and I was losing my patience when the part of my brain that really likes finger-painting and glitter said:

“Ooooh, I totally know what we could do here….”

And dammit! I spelled Villain wrong.

That Finkmeister is an asshole.

(I didn’t get a good picture of this part – which tells of how Finkmeister likes to steal the money from under kids’ pillows leaving only spiders and chewed up bubble gum instead.)

All the while, the part of my brain that likes puzzles just kept shouting “INVISIBLE INK! PLEASE OH PLEASE LET US USE INVISIBLE INK! I DO SO LOVE INVISIBLE INK!” …over and over.

Which is how the invisible ink got involved.

OH SUCH INVISIBLE INK SHALL WE HAVE!

The invisible ink:

I told you there was invisible ink involved.

I told you there was invisible ink involved.

I would like it noted here that I did not do this because I am an over-compensating parent.

Okay, I may be over-compensating a little bit. But I think that over-compensation in this circumstance would include a lot more money and possibly some toys as well.

OK, I lied. It's two.

I swear that is only a dollar.

Truthfully, I did this for one reason: Magic.

Catfish really believes in heroes and villains and ninjas and pirates and evil spies everywhere. In a few years, he’ll figure out that Santa Claus has handwriting exactly like his mom and that the Easter Bunny uses the same damn plastic eggs every year. But right now, he’s only six and he’s still convinced that I can talk to animals, Katzuhiro eats evil snakes, Transformers are real and a dumpy little fairy comes in the night to leave a dollar under his pillow for each and every bloody tooth he loses.

Later on, he’ll put it together and realize it was all a big hoax – but that won’t take away the memory of a day when he came home to find himself at the center of a mysterious and heroic adventure.

I can’t wait for him to go get the mail.

What the heck is that?

…In his boxer shorts. That’s some great parenting, right there.

Don’t miss out on the rest of the story!

Part 1: Finkmeister is a Jackass
Part 2: The Overnight Finkmeister Trap
Part 3: A Gentleman’s Duel
Part 4: Riddles Three, a Photo Essay.
Part 5: End Game.

Fun Size Capitalism

Monday, November 2, 2015 Current Events, Home Helper Tips, Scandalous Parenting Permalink

We live in an old farm house. It’s a great house – not too big, not too small. Just the right amount of creepiness in the basement (read: spiders when appropriate but no outlandish noises or squishy spots). We’ve live in this house for almost 10 years. I love this house. It has everything. We have a cupboard that’s right next to the chimney and when it’s wet outside you can hang your coat in there. Within 30 minutes, it’s dry.

We (had) a cold cupboard in the kitchen until a few weeks ago. It kept everything in it abnormally cold – even in the summertime.

We have pumpkins that grow in the garden even though no one planted any and a pair of hummingbirds that live in the lilac tree across from the kitchen window.

What we don’t have, and have never had, are trick-or-treaters. In ten years, I can recall less than three. I still buy Halloween candy every year though because I believe in teaching my children about Capitalism. Specifically, how capitalism applies directly to the Butterfinger candy bars they bring home from Trick-or-treating.

I usually start with a mix of chocolate-based Fun Size candy bars – something heavy on Almond Joys and Milky Ways. This is because Almond Joys are my son’s favorite candy. And I can buy all of his Butterfingers from him for the low cost of 1 Fun Size (FnS) Almond Joy. My daughter doesn’t like Almond Joys. (She doesn’t like Butterfingers either) but every year she tried to corner the market on Almond Joys (or Butterfingers, depending on how brave she’s feeling) in order to trade with her brother for the more sought-after candies like Twix or Kit Kats.

It’s all very convoluted and supply/demand-y but here are my general guidelines for trading Halloween candy. Please note, these only apply to the parent – children are free to trade as they see fit (although I am generally there to moderate):

Full Sized Butterfinger = 3 (FnS) Milky Ways + 2 (FnS) M&Ms + and the right to shove 2 candy bars in your face,  RIGHT NOW, NO QUESTIONS ASKED

(FnS) Butterfinger = 1 (FnS) Milky Way OR 1 (FnS) Almond Joy

1 (FnS) Milky Way = 1 (FnS) Nestle Crunch + 1 (FnS) M&Ms

1 (FnS) Nestle Crunch = 1 Smarties OR 1 Starburst OR 1 (FnS) Snickers

Junior Mints = 1 (FnS) Milky Way

Tootsie Pop/Blow Pop (depending on flavor) = 1 (FnS) Milky Way (any of the red, blue or brown varieties) OR 1 (FnS) Nestle Crunch (anything else)

Banana flavored ANYTHING = (-1) (FnS) Nestle Crunch + severe mocking

THERE ARE NO MOM-TRADES FOR EITHER TWIX OR KIT KATS UNLESS EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCES APPLY.**

**Extenuating circumstances = full sized Butterfingers available.

HALLOWEEN JACKPOT

HALLOWEEN JACKPOT

You may note that, this year, 3 Musketeers have been omitted from these dealings. This is because my son ate all available 3 Musketeers before he got home.

Candy Sunick: America’s Next Awesome WTF Parent.

Monday, September 21, 2015 Current Events, Guest Blogger, Scandalous Parenting, WTFparenting Permalink

Hey folks! Today I get to step aside and make way for my very best friend, Candy Sunick! You may know her from such things as:

Or perhaps you remember this:

As you can see, Candy and I have A LOT in common which is why I’m excited for her guest blogging extravaganza. Take it away Candy!

There’s a Coffin in my living room.

It’s a ratty-looking black wooden thing and it’s been here for eight years. It’s not real, to be clear. It’s a stage coffin. But it’s full-size, and it sure looks real, by Dracula! The inside is lined in pink imitation satin and smells of moldy sawdust. For a while, we used it as a coffee table, prompting interesting reactions from guests who either loved it or hated it. Nowadays, though, we just use our coffin to store crap treasured keepsakes and documents. Is it ugly? Yes. Is it too big and ungainly for our small apartment? Yes. Do I sometimes look at it and think “that thing is a serious fire trap?” Yes. Do I want to get rid of it? No effing way.

It's called "Undead Chic"

It’s called “Undead Chic”

First, it’s a COFFIN! A person-sized one. You can lie down in it with the lid closed and everything. Think of the possible pranks and party uses! It also appeals deeply to my inner Goth, who is itching to light a bunch of candles and lay down in it while listening to “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” if I’d let her. (I will NOT; someone needs to act like a grownup and get shit done, you know.)

Second, we plan to graduate to living in a house someday, hopefully by the time my son reaches high school. How cool will our rec room be to the teen crowd with a COFFIN as the center piece? Especially if it’s full of snacks and soda and video games?? I also fantasize about filling it with free condoms, LGBTQ-friendly literature and informational brochures about safe sex, crisis hotlines and college planning. (Apparently you can take the writer out of social work, but you can’t take the social worker out of the writer.) Yep, the kids are gonna flock to my house, for sure!

Currently it's the coffin of Undead Art Supplies.

Currently it’s the coffin of Undead Art Supplies.

The main reason there’s a coffin in my living room, though, is because it came with my husband, just “part of the territory.” He and a buddy salvaged it from a closing theater when they were in their early twenties, living in their first apartment on Capitol Hill.

“It was too big for our studio,” he told me, grinning, the day he unloaded it from the U-Haul. “And it was a total pain in the ass to carry up the stairs. But we had to take it. I mean, it’s a COFFIN!”
How could I argue with that? Also, since the “part of the territory” items he got with me included one son, one ex-stepdaughter, one ex-husband, one spending addiction and two mental health disorders, I was not about to give him grief over the coffin. He could have had ten coffins and I’d still have had to be like, “OK, no problem! Bring ‘em on in! I think we can put one in the bathroom!”

So, I rarely never look at our coffin hulking over there under the window, taking up almost the whole length of the wall, and consider donating it to the local HS drama club. Instead, I look at it and think, “That’s going to look so cool in teenage Ben’s man cave!” And then I imagine my son lounging around the coffin with friends, laughing, eating junk food, talking about school, video games, movies, music, dating, dreams, life. Just like Joe did. Just like I did. Just like we all did.