For whatever reason, losing a tooth was a REALLY big deal to Molly (I mean before it happened. Before it was even on the horizon. Before she knew money was involved!). She was convinced of canine conspiracy! molar mystery! incisor intrigue! that was going to keep those teeth in her mouth forever. It was rough. And because I was so focused on not letting her get too focused on it all, I never thought to check to see if any of her teeth were loose. Oops-a-daisy. And so, a few weeks ago, on a ride home from Maine, she complained of her tooth hurting. I began tallying up orthodontia bills in my head, convinced that my faulty teeth and mouth genetics had been passed on, whole hog, to her. At a rest stop (because, you know, Jack has a bladder the size of an ant so every rest area becomes an opportunity for us to stretch our legs), I looked in her mouth and discovered her tooth hurt because it was about to come out. Oh heck yes! Dreams (or natural growth progression... whatever) do come true! And a week or so later, that sucker came right out, happening in grand fashion -- at school where the nurse came and gave her a little treasure box to put it in. It couldn't have been written any better. And the tooth fairy? That's a story for another day... but ultimately she came and deposited her cash and we got woken up at 5:30 in the morning with the confirmation of her visit.
