The Tooth Fairy has been inconsistent in the DeFwis household, giving everything from a quarter to five dollars (when she was short on change), and even leaving an occasional toy, secretly culled from Clay’s private collection (when she was short on cash).
A recent sudden interest in money erupted when the boys realized they could raid their piggy banks in exchange for some new LEGO’s. Despite my offer to match any funds that found their way into longterm savings, Cooper promptly blew his wad on 40 Star Wars minifigures, and Archie made an in-kind purchase of an additional minifigure collection.
But the LEGO lust persisted.
With Archie’s loss of his second front tooth just a few days behind the first, he was prepared. He arrived home from school and announced that he’d made a wish on account of this newly lost tooth, and that wish was that he’d get another new LEGO set.
I objected to this unorthodox negotiation with the Tooth Fair (of course), but Clay obliged, and somehow turned the Tooth Fairy’s average tooth-dowry into a $20 Amazon purchase.
All seemed to be well until the following morning, when Archie awoke to both a missing bedside tooth, and a missing monetary gift. When I pleasantly explained that his wish supplanted the Tooth Fairy’s funds, Archie exploded in tears and wailed at his father, “YOU STOLE MY MONEY!”
This bitterness lasted for the next twenty minutes, where I tried to reason with an outraged Archie – “Dad is amazing! He turned your $.50 into $20!” “Dad is the worst! He stole my money!” “Would you prefer that dad cancels the LEGO order and gives you back fifty cents?” “NO! My wish was for the LEGO set, so dad needs to give me back my money!” And so on.
Eventually, we needed to head to school. While getting his coat and backpack on, I divulged how the Tooth Fairy only gave me a quarter for every tooth lost as a child; no more, no less. To which Archie tentatively said, “That’s because the Tooth Fairy was Grandma.”
“What?” I innocently asked.
“Your Tooth Fairy was Grandma. And you and dad are the Tooth Fairy.”
“You think so?”
Archie went on, “And you and dad are Santa Claus.”
“You think so?” I repeated.
“I wished for a Nintendo Switch from Santa Claus but didn’t get one, because SANTA CLAUS IS YOU.”
We both stared at each other. Archie then reasoned that if we are the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus for him, then his friends’ parents are probably their Tooth Fairies and Santa Clauses, too.
I have to wonder what this unsettling discovery must have been like for our seven-year-old to have, mere minutes before heading into his first-grade classroom. Archie didn’t seem too shaken by the news, however; I think he has a plan for how to extort his parents with this new knowledge.
I made the interesting decision for us to visit the SAC museum in Ashland over a beautiful weekend. I convinced the boys to come along for the ride by promising a ride in the flight simulator, which I envisioned as being somewhat like the driver’s ed simulators of my high school days: cheesy, staid, and ultimately underwhelming. What I did not consider was that a few decades have passed since then, and the technology has gotten a bit more sophisticated.
When we got to the museum I paid in advance for the boys’ ride. We then made our way quickly through the museum to the hangar. Looking down, we saw the flight simulators, which to my horror were not stationary planes with a blurry t.v. monitor, but rather a fully encapsulated metal coffin with hydraulics enabling it to rotate 365 degrees.
Cooper took one look at these machines and said “no way am I going in there.” Archie, however was committed. Clay had just survived a car crash the week before and wasn’t interested in being shaken upside down in a metal coffin, and I was too cheap to let our tickets go to waste, so I volunteered to endure what was sure to be a claustrophic six minutes with Archie.
On the sheet you’re able to choose from 6 rollercoaster scenarios and 6 flight simulators. Archie of course selected the volcano rollercoaster, which to my horror advertised 6 complete flips. As we waited patiently for our turn, a young man boarded and then showcased the ease and calm of the flight simulator; a stark contrast from the horrifying freneticism of the rollercoaster. I did what any good parent would do and engaged in a not-so-passive political campaign to sway Archie away from the roller coaster towards the subdued simulator, which he promptly fell for.
As our turn arrived we climbed on board the the teenager in charge asked who the pilot would be, to which I laughed, “Definitely the six-year-old.” He then strapped us into the holsters and began going over the controls, which were only accessible to Archie, on the far right of the machine. Knowing that I would not be able to reach the controls, I vaguely listened to the instructions, but was attuned to Archer’s blank expression as he stared past the young man, clearly not at all capturing the complex controls. He quickly dismissed the control that divided us, saying, “This makes the flight go faster or slower, but you’ll want to keep it in fast mode.” “Why is that? Wouldn’t slow mode be…easier?” I innocently asked. “No. Because if you put it in slow mode you’ll just crash into the ground.”
As the young man lowered the blue metallic lid I considered this new-to-me prospect of crashing. His last words were, “If you need to stop the simulator just hit this red button in the middle.” Click.
We felt the simulator slowly rise into the air. The computer screens turned on and I steadied myself as the claustrophobia began to set in. A 10 second countdown began, and suddenly it was Archer’s turn to pilot. He hesitated for a few seconds, and then clumsily grabbed the control with his right hand, which immediately jerked the plane into a tilted increase. Clearly not knowing what to do next, Archer then experimented with what can only be described as a mangle-hold on the control, which propelled the simulator into three complete barrel rolls and left us suspended completely upside down.
At this point I was beginning to ponder the wisdom of allowing my child to fly a plane with me powerlessly strapped in next to him. My shoulders strained against the bars, as we rocked upside down in silence. “Archie! Get us right side up!” I shrieked, to which Archie again mangled the controllers, reluctantly righting the simulator, which wobbled uneasily before suddenly lurching us back upside down.
The blood rushed into my head and I started to realize that this was likely to be our position for the entirety of our six-minute adventure. Archer, who had not uttered a sound this whole time, sat frozen next to me. “Archie! Do you know how to use the controls?” To which he slowly confirmed, “….No…” The decision was an easy one to make. I flung myself forward and slammed the red button, which, in spite of my strong belief that we would need to be rescued by the fire department, immediately and calmly put us back into an upright position.
The hydraulics hissed as the lid slowly opened. “Is everything okay in here?” The teenager-in-charged asked curiously. I looked out at a small crowd that had begun to gather around us. Seeing their bemused faces, and the face of my husband who was clearly enjoying what had just occurred, I replied in a high pitched retort, “No! Who thought a six-year-old pilot was a good thing!” The teenager-in-charge pleasantly stated that, since we had not completed our entire time, we were eligible to complete the volcano roller coaster instead. I viewed this as a complete offense and, failing to control my panic, yelled, “Get me out of this thing!”
We quickly exited the simulator and after a few minutes regaining my composure continued our exploration of the museum. Two hours later, Cooper decided that he was brave enough after all to tackle the simulator. After numerous repeated attempts to convince his poor mother into doing it again he succeeded in recruiting his brother. Mortified, I again approached the teenager-in-charge, and said, “I think we’d like to try this again.” He looked at us politely and replied, “Well, when people don’t make it through the simulator – ” “Oh my god, are we banned from ever doing this again?” I interrupted, ashamed. “No, no, since you didn’t last very long can choose another simulation and go again for free.” Stunned by this turn of events, and excited to know that I didn’t need to shell out another $20, I hesitantly asked, “How long did we make it?” Thinking the response would be at least halfway I was stunned when he responded, “About 26 seconds.”
The teenager-in-charge then strapped both of my children into the metallic monster and closed the lid. I said my mental goodbyes, assuming they were sure to either die in a fiery crash or need to be rescued from sheer terror of it all, but they ended up enjoying their roller coaster ride without issue.
Never. again.
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