Tooth Fairy duty all part of grandparenting
IWAS not expecting my Invercargill visit to be fraught. A road trip with my 6yearold granddaughter for a weekend to see her cousins seemed straightforward.
I cracked out my two ‘‘50 Silly Songs’’ CDs for the trip, an offspringhorrifying impulse airport purchase many years ago. But who could go wrong with classics such as Minnie the Moocher, Your Feet’s Too Big
(grandma ignored that grammar), Da Doo Ron Ron and
May the Bird of Paradise Fly up Your Nose?
It was a pity we got stuck on
Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini and never moved on to the other CD. That meant we missed out on some beauts such as Yakety Yak, Purple People Eater, Does your Chewing Gum Lose its Flavour
(on the bedpost overnight)? and
How Much is that Doggie in the Window?
On the plus side, however, it allowed us to avoid the questionable lyrics in Seven Little Girls (Sitting in the Back
Seat). For those too young to recall this 1959 hit, it was all about seven little girls sittin’ in the back seat kissin’ and a huggin’ with Fred. The driver of the car tries to persuade one to come up and sit beside him but, all together, they tell him to keep his mind on the driving and his hands on the wheel and his snoopy eyes on the road ahead because they are havin’ fun sittin’ in the back seat kissin’ and a huggin’ with Fred. Even the driver showing off his triple carburettor could not lure them from Fred.
Oh dear. Wrong on so many levels, starting with the danger of having eight people in the back seat. To hell with triple carbies, what car do you know that has eight seat belts in the rear seat?
Another bonus is that we both know all the lyrics to Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini, something which is bound to be useful at some future family gathering. However, I trust there will be no suggestion we might want to reenact the story which has the central character stuck in the water and turning blue because she does not want anyone to see her in her new IBTWYPDB.
By Sunday, all was going well with the visit. My 3yearold grandson declared his cousin his ‘‘favourite girrrl’’. She was feeling kindly disposed to him too since he was happy to be bossed about, but when he threw a ball at her face nudging one of her front teeth into wiggliness she was not impressed. Her concern turned to euphoria, however, when the tooth came out during a swimming pool visit. She declared it the best day of her whole life, although that hyperbole might have had more to do with her being brave enough to go down the hydroslide five times.
What she did not realise was that we adults were not up with tooth fairy protocols. Jacinda Ardern might have declared the little winged ones essential workers during the lockdown but she didn’t specify the pay rate.
A check with the Dunedin whanau established $3 was required, plus a note from the TF.
So far, so good, but the toothless one reckoned the tooth had to be retrieved from under her pillow.
As the TF’s unglamorous assistant, I considered the possibility of that turning to custard as I blundered around in the dark was too risky. I insisted the Invercargill Tooth Fairy had her own way of doing things. The tooth would go into a glass of water, demonstrating that the magnification provided by the water would make it easier for the TF to find.
A note was duly written by another assistant, her aunt, whose writing was more impressive and legible than mine, thanking her for the tooth and saying the TF would put it to good use.
Fortunately, she did not ask what use that would be. If there is an answer to that, I have never known it.
On the way home, however, she asked how big the Tooth Fairy was. I had to admit I had never seen her. Her concern was about how a small fairy could be strong enough to carry two coins. I am not sure why I did not just say the TF had superpowers. Instead I blithered about her having helpers.
By the end of our journey, I felt a kinship with those conspiracy theorists who add to or alter their predictions as events prove their theories wrong. With her and the note safely delivered home and the coins joining her other tooth takings in her money box, I was relieved to hand over any further questions to her parents.
Hooray for the perks of grandparenting.