Mother of the Year, Chapter 55

Really Son, There are Far More Creative Vocabulary Words You Can Use
"Dad, I hate my f-u-c-k-i-n-g heater," my 7-year-old son shared during a quiet moment of father-son bonding, being sure to spell out the offending word for extra clarity and emphasis.

The heater to which he referred was a radiator in his bedroom, part of the original heating system still intact in our 80-year-old house. Sure, it makes a few squeaking noises and the occasional clank as hot air is forced through its aged pipes, but it works like a charm and keeps his room toasty warm on the frostiest of New England nights.

Still, the squeaks and clanks often rouse my son from slumber and instill in him the fear of a thousand mice in chains. He wants the radiator turned off; mom says no. Mom always says no.

So now, during an intimate one-on-one exchange, he spells it all out to dad, and when told he really "shouldn't use that word - despite his excellent spelling and usage," he says, "But you said it in Boston."

And yes, Dad did. We were driving through downtown Boston after an emotional and cathartic follow-up visit, after five years, with my son's eye doctor - a man whose examination room office wall is decorated with childrens' drawings and photographs and one very prominent crayon-scribbled note that reads: You should win the Nobel Prize for everything you do for kids.

This note makes me cry because this man should win the Nobel Prize. And if I were in charge, he would.

Anyhow, it had been a long day of hurrying and driving and remembering and most of all, feeling grateful, and now we were taking a quick detour around town to point out some sites. I remember making a "constructive" comment about my husband's driving in the midst of a bustling downtown intersection, and I remember him saying something like, "Maybe you should flossin' drive!"

Apparently, my son remembered the scene differently.

You know, kids.

I brought up the language issue the other day while darting around town doing errands with my kids a captive audience in the back seat. My rationale was to demystify some of the taboo words my kids might have heard hither and yon (like on the school bus) and encourage them to seek out more creative alternatives.

"Look," I casually explained, cool as a capital K, "if you're really mad about something, instead of using words that are offensive and, well, low class, why not try something like, 'Oh broccoli!' or 'Barkin' anchovy!"

My kids sat quietly stunned with wide eyes as I continued, "And a bitch? Well that's just another name for a female dog. You know, bitches have puppies."

I was feeling pretty successful, and we were actually having fun brainstorming for linguistic alternatives to the usual suspect taboo swear words when Something Bad Happened.

We were in a parking lot and I was patiently waiting for a spot while laughing and joking and being silly with my kids. Just as I was beginning to turn, a car appeared from the opposite direction and darted into My Spot.

Instinctively, I screamed a Very Bad Word - a word far less creative than "broccoli" but one that superbly captured both my frustration, vitriol, and general sentiment. I also banged both hands on the wheel before emphatically raising them in the air.

Yes, kids. As I was saying...

What Do You Mean The Tooth Fairy Didn't Come?
My daughter's tooth, the one that had been dangling by a fleshy thread for days, fell out just before bedtime last night.

As my daughter carefully placed the tooth atop a tiny little pillow inside a tiny little box and put the special box underneath her pillow, the Tooth Fairy found her wallet and removed the smallest bill she could find, which unfortunately for her and for all subsequent teeth in her future was not a $1, or a $5, or even an assorted number of shiny coins. It was a $10.

Tired, she placed the $10 bill on her dresser and went to bed, certain she'd remember early the next morning to perform her tooth fairily duties. Needless to say, she forgot.

"Mom, the Tooth Fairy didn't come!" my pajama-clad daughter exclaimed in the morning, box in hand.

This was not the first time the Tooth Fairy had done a no-show in our house. It was also, as I quickly recalled, not the first time she had been a little tricky.

"Hmmm," I said, concerned, "are you sure? I mean, sometimes the Tooth Fairy leaves a gift but doesn't take the tooth!"

It's true. In the Dynamite house, the Tooth Fairy has been known to leave a gift and also leave the tooth. I've seen it happen with my own two eyes.

I made a quick beeline up to my daughter's bedroom, stuffed the bill between her mattress and bedframe, then summoned her up for a closer look.

"Don't you remember when the Tooth Fairy left your brother's tooth but also left money on the windowsill, which is probably where she came in? Let's check the windows!"

We proceeded to check her windowsills and found nothing but dust. Lots of dust.

"Maybe you should do a closer check of your bed? It just seems odd to me that she wouldn't come at all, even if she decided to leave the tooth. I mean, the box might have been more than her wings could carry, but she certainly would have left a gift."

And guess what? She did. There, stuffed between the mattress and bed frame. Ten glorious dollars all wrapped up in one glorious bill.

So much for fairy dust and new toothbrushes. Way to go, Tooth Fairy. Way to go.