A Man's Heart

I have a baby boy.  He’s eight months old and a delightful little fellow.  He’s taught me a lot about masculine behaviour:

a)  Communicate only when the television, computer, or other bright lights aren’t around to distract him;

b)  Cave time to chill in his crib is appreciated; and,

c)  Anything with wheels is awesome.

The most significant thing he has taught me is that if his tummy is empty, nothing else matters.  I don’t remember my daughters lunging – with mouths wide open – for daddy’s hamburger or mommy’s sandwich.  The only time I’ve seen him cry in anger with red face and clenched fists was when he couldn’t reach a piece of food on his tray.

He has a voracious appetite.  By the time I get the spoon back into the bowl, his mouth is open for another bite.  I can’t fill it fast enough.  But once he’s full, he’s content and all smiles, happily playing and rolling around the floor.

Kind of like my husband.  Not the rolling so much, but when he gets home for lunch, let’s just say I don’t ask him how his morning was until after he’s had some food.

All the men in my life enjoy eating.  My wiry, little Dad jokes that he’s on a “See Food” diet.  He used to sneak away to lick his plate where the rest of us couldn’t see his bad manners.  When my brother was a teenager, he would take apples (from our orchard) to eat while reading in bed.  My Mom counted twenty apple cores one morning.

At family reunions, the men say, “It doesn’t matter what we eat, as long as there’s enough of it.”  I think my son is carrying on this tradition.

Why am I telling you this?  Because, ladies, Valentine’s Day is just around the corner and that old saying appears to be true:  “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Tooth Fairy Economics

The Tooth Fairy is behind again.  At the rate my children are losing their teeth, one can hardly blame her.

Unlike Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny who can plan in advance for one special night, the Tooth Fairy has her schedule sprung upon her by temperamental teeth.  And unlike Santa and his magical elves, the Tooth Fairy works alone.

Every now and then, when a tooth lies unclaimed for a day or two, my children issue a not-so-gentle reminder:  “Mom, is the Tooth Fairy dead?”

I’ve heard that some children get big bucks for their teeth – like five dollar bills or more.  No wonder people complain that raising children is expensive.

One friend admitted that her son received five dollars for his tooth because that was all she had on her at the time.  Oh, the importance of a well-stocked change-jar!  Without elves creeping in to replenish it, the Tooth Fairy needs to make sure she has dimes, quarters, or loonies available at all times.  Pennies reproduce on their own.

The Tooth Fairy in our home knows that little ones who don’t yet understand the value of money would rather have ten sparkly pennies or five shiny dimes to jingle in her purse or pocket rather than a boring five-dollar bill.

Plain and simple, old teeth just aren’t worth much – except for, maybe, those teeny-tiny cute ones, poking through swollen baby gums, white and sharp, appearing amidst tears and cheers.

If lost baby teeth are worthless, why are the contents of the Ziploc bag in my jewelry box growing?  Why is it so hard to throw away those disgusting little things?

I guess no amount the Tooth Fairy settles on will be correct since no one can put an accurate price on what those baby teeth represent:  invaluable memories of precious childhoods, passing entirely too quickly.