broken wings and pixie dust

so i always thought i'd be the kind of parent who lived in absolute truth with my children. well, obviously protecting them with only age appropriate info. but i mean, no santa claus or Easter rabbity fairy-liciousness (considering we are Muslim), no sand man, boogymen or tooth fairies... until my daughter lost her first tooth. her newly snaggled-toothed smile was too cute not to spend whatever change i could muster on. then her brother some years later, his smile proud and perforated. i've been nickeled and dimed ever sense for the teeth falling into dinner plates and cupped palms; from corn cobs and apples. but last night, when my daughter put one of her last 2 baby teeth under her pillow, her brother, whom i thought was still in the brilliant bliss of childhood tales, whispers, "there is no tooth fairy, hunh mommy? the parents just put the money under the pillow." somewhere not so deep inside, i was kinda sad. somehow his disbelief equated to a loss of some believing part of him. and it would be gone forever.

the next morning, as i shake them into the waking world, my daughter stretches; eases her hand under her pillow to recover the dollar i will surely find later, neglected on a countertop, in a pocket of dirty clothes, crumpled in the bottom of her backpack. her lips purse. "you gave me this." "i don't know what you are talking about," i respond nonchalantly. her brother sits up like her partner in this impromptu interrogation. "mom," her eyes roll into her head as she says, "when we lived in the old apartment, one time i woke up and my tooth was still under my pillow. and i closed my eyes again cuz i didn't want to get up yet and i felt your hand go under my pillow, take my tooth and give me money." they both glare at me, smirks simmering at the corners of their mouths like "we ain't stupid". i threw my hands in the air but admitted to nothing. not to being the tooth fairy. not to the fact that they are older and wiser and no longer believers in my fairy wings and pixie dust.