Four loose teeth. Including  the one in front of the shark tooth. Phew. Now if those little suckers can just hang on til the stationery arrives for Tallulah Fairbanks, Sophie’s tooth fairy.

Sophie informs me that she actually has seven loose teeth (her favorite number, to match her age) and that she’s quite certain her tooth fairy is named Olivia, but I’m continuing the TF tradition we started with Annabelle. I think she’ll be pleased when she finds the purple note under her pillow.

Most days I feel like the my family is indulging my tooth fairy thing (certainly Ray is). And I know you are, dear readers.

But last night at the dinner table Annabelle announced with great sincerity that Tabitha (that would be Tabitha Fairchild) is one of her best friends. And for a moment, all was right in my silly little world.

It fell out today.

And not a moment too soon, since it’s been hanging by a thread for days. It finally came out at school with some advice from a friend (“Pull it!”) and two complete twists. When I heard that, I swooned — and not in a good way.

I advised Annabelle to ask Tabitha Fairchild just one question tonight. “Save the rest for the next tooth!” I said, warning she was going to run out of things to ask her tooth fairy. But every time she’d finished, Annabelle came up with another question; she wound up with six:

Are you married? (No, but I have a boyfriend)

Do you brush your teeth? (Of course!)

Will I ever see you? (Crap, forgot to answer that one)

Do you have a tooth fairy? (Yes, she brings me hair accessories)

Do you have parents? (Yes, I’m very lucky, they’re very nice!)

Now for the glitter and the silver dollars and the note and the barrettes I snuck to Walgreens for and the nervous breakdown inducing tooth removal. Wish me luck.

It’s hard to make out the writing, given the pale pink, but the above is Tabitha Fairchild’s new stationery — card on top, envelope with seal on the bottom. I think it turned out rather nicely, which is why I wanted to give a shout out to the etsy.com seller, lepapierdesigns.etsy.com, who made it for me. (And shipped it so promptly it made it here in time for Annabelle’s fourth tooth, even though I don’t think anyone had ever asked the chick to make stationery for a tooth fairy before. I was shocked. Good business idea.)

I got writer’s cramp tonight. The questions, this time:

What is your pet bunny’s name? (Trixie Fairchild)

Do you paint your finger- and toenails? (Yes, the palest shade of sparkly pink)

Are you small, or my size? (Rather small)

What do you eat? (Milk and apples but I do like the occasional fancy tea party)

Where do you live, in a castle? (Yes, in an undisclosed location)

How do you get into my house? (A different way each time)

And finally, what do you do with my teeth? (That will be revealed when the last baby tooth falls out)

That gives me a while to come up with an answer. “They wind up in your mother’s underwear drawer” clearly isn’t good enough.

Quite a bit happened today, not all of it good, so I think i’ll focus on one of the pure, joyous moments of childhood and parenthood: the loss of a tooth.

This was Annabelle’s third tooth. Sophie insists she has loose teeth that are going to fall out “in 15 minutes” but so far, only AB has got the toothless grin going. Not so toothless, not yet. She’s got a wiggly top one, but this was her third bottom in a row to fall out (rather, be tugged out, from all accounts of what went down in the classroom).

She was beyond ecstatic, anticipating the arrival of the much-celebrated TF, which doesn’t just stand for tooth fairy.

When Annabelle’s first tooth fell out, I consulted with my Mom Brain Trust, Trish and Deborah.

Trish, the parent of two tween/teen types, gave me her drill: A dollar for the first, two for the second, and so on. Of course you must give silver dollars. (I hope a reasonable facsimile counts; the bank didn’t have REAL silver dollars the day I went to lay in a supply, a few months back. These are some sort of Susan B. Anthony thing. Or was that the $2 bill? Anyhow.)

Deborah’s daughter, Anna, filled Annabelle in on the rest, namely that everyone has her own individual tooth fairy, whose name will be revealed the night of the first visit. Anna’s TF is named Yoko. (If you know Deborah, you’re nodding right now, saying to yourself, “Of course Anna’s tooth fairy is named Yoko.” Deborah’s that cool.)

I forgot about the name thing, The Night of the First Tooth, and had just finished sealing the card (a very special first tooth card, given to me at least a year before by my friend Cyndi Coon, whose www.laboratory5.com designs are to die for, and set aside for this very occasion) when Annabelle appeared in the kitchen doorway, announcing she just couldn’t sleep til she’d written her tooth fairy a note, asking her name.

I’d already signed the card “Love, T.F.”, so I struggled to come up with an appropriate name, which I added to the outside of the envelope. It’s not cool, but Annabelle loves the name Tabitha Fairchild (after all, the child is named Annabelle) and she speaks of her, once in a while, even when she doesn’t have a loose tooth.

This evening, though she should have been prepared, it took Tabitha a good half hour to locate those aforementioned dollar coins in the depths of the kitchen cabinets, and even longer to answer what has turned into a ritual list of questions that are getting harder, I notice. Tonight’s included:

What did you mean when you said you were older than the moon and the stars? (A lady never reveals her exact age!)

Are you fancy or casual? (Very fancy, of course.)

Do you have pets? (A buck toothed bunny rabbit.)

What do you look like? Why can’t I see you? (I really can’t be seen since I’m magic, but close your eyes and imagine a collection of sparkling diamonds with wings, and you’ll be close.)

Do you use the door or the window? (Neither!)

Now I must practice the most terrifying task of parenthood, the Removal of the Tooth from the Bedroom. How will I not get caught? I’ve also got to leave the envelope with the note, along with instructions to look under Izzy’s food bowl for another prize (since the cat recently lost a mouthful of teeth herself), the dollars, and a new hair accessory, because if she’s anything, Tabitha is stylish.

I’d say wish me luck, but I know that tonight I couldn’t be luckier. Best I can tell, this is what it’s all about.