The Dictator, the Idiot Tooth Fairy, and Me

This might not have been the first time I've done it.

"Gappy," as we like to call the toothless
Dictator. For some reason she abhors
this name. She also doesn't want her
picture taken..."because it's
emBARrasing!" So I tickled her
while she was snacking on pretzels
(yes, that's chewed up pretzel in her
mouth), snapped a pic, and posted
it on my blog for all to see.
Have I mentioned that I'm a bad parent?

My precious Dictator came skipping home from school two days ago clutching a plastic sandwich bag with a big grin on her face. "Guess what, Mommy?!" She thrusts the bag in my face and I catch a glimpse of a tiny, bloody canine tooth. Then she grins and jams her face up against my eyes so that my eyelashes mash into her mouth. "Do you see?! I lost another TOOTH! And Makayla says it's a LUCKY tooth because it's POINTY! I'll probably even get EXTRA money tonight!" (The Dictator is nothing if not mercenary). I make a note of it in my head. Must not forget tooth fairy tonight. This is important. Because I've forgotten before. 

The good news, in our family, is that we've already established that the tooth fairy is pretty much a moron. We have a saying: "You can rely on Santa Claus. You can count on the Easter Bunny. But the tooth fairy is all like 'Blahahahahah!"  

Really. We actually go around saying that. The last part sounds like ditzy, flaky, confused blonde exclamations. We're just a house full of dorks, really. 

But this time, I'm not going to forget. I write reminder notes to myself everywhere. I set an alarm on my phone. This is important. 

So naturally, I fall asleep on the couch while the Bureaucrat is out doing social-person things that night. I wake up in a sleepy stupor at 1 am, stumble upstairs and fall into bed. I sleep peacefully, dreaming about alien takeovers, kindergarten classrooms, and lattes...obviously. And in the morning...

"Mom! The tooth fairy FORGOT AGAIN!" 

Yup. Again. 

But don't worry. This is the Dictator we're talking about. She knows who she's dealing with. Tooth fairies are all like "Blahahahah!" They're morons. They need patience, guidance, and most of all, passive-aggressive letters.

"Because when I woke up, like four times to see if you had come--you thoughtless, insensitive harpy--it was still there...because you're inconsiderate, self-absorbed and slow in the head!"

"And even though my tooth is very small, it's still there...MORON!"

The Bureaucrat said that he recently read somewhere that the phrase "please advise" is business speak for WTF. As in, "We still haven't received those documents. Please advise." I think that if the Dictator had been aware of this useful bit of business info, "Please RSVP" would most certainly have read "please advise," and would even more certainly have implied something which, as this is a PG rated blog, is unrepeatable here.

Anyway, the problem was resolved quickly, as the repentant fairy immediately deposited a double sum of tooth reward money (a guilt offering) the following night. And thusly, the passive-aggressive wrath of the Dictator was satiated by cold hard cash.

Guilt offering. Nice and blurry so you won't
notice that the blithering idiot fairy
committed a federal offense by defacing
federal currency with an apologetic,
pink "oops!"

Fairies might be dumb as dirt, but at least they're easily manipulated. And that's all the Dictator ever really asks, anyway.

Going to the Chapel: Second Wedding Season

The young Mortons in our wedding
heyday. This is how young people
dance...after a few drinks.

At some point in their mid-twenties most young adults go through a phase of life in which they attend/stand up in a wedding every month for about two years. This phase is fun, exciting, and expensive. Luckily, most people in their mid-twenties are also young enough not to care about silly things like finances, and are still energetic enough to enjoy exhausting things like fun and excitement. Then we age a bit, and weddings stay fun and exciting, but are fewer and farther between. This is clearly the work of some great, beneficent force that mercifully slows the occurrence of exciting events to keep pace with our ever-waning old-person energies/need to find babysitters.

Doe-eyed, innocent
young people, circa
2003

Of course, there are those twenty-somethings who slip through the cracks and do responsible things like get jobs, and houses, and cars, and "savings" (whatever that is), and "the right one" before taking the plunge in their thirties. And there will always be those young'uns in our lives that fall madly in love and have doe-eyed, innocent, young-person weddings and invite all us jaded, sleepy, elderly folks. As a result, this year, in the midst of our thirties, the aged Mortons are experiencing a mini-flux of weddings. I can think of at least five six happy couples that have been married/are about to be married in 2013 and a good handful that married in 2012. Even though we are as old as the hills, the Bureaucrat and I are very excited about all these wonderful events...even if the mere phrase "bachelorette party" causes me overwhelming fatigue.

Older Mortons, in the wedding of
the Librarian and the Accountant.
If you asked us to be in your
wedding, be advised: we look like
this--armpit, tongue, and all.

My little sister, who shall henceforth be known as "The Pretty One,"* is getting married in the fall, and has bravely asked the Dictator and the Anarchist to participate. I am honored to be her "Matron" of honor (but I swear if I hear anyone call me "matron" I will punch that person in the throat). Our friends the Scapegoat and the Jackrabbit (we'll stick with our animal theme for this couple) are marrying in the spring. Both of these couples fall into the "responsible" category (yes, I'm calling you guys "old," please don't kill me), so we've heard them utter phrases like, "We really wish we could keep this simple," "We just want to make this easy for everyone," and "We're trying to be responsible about keeping costs down." Ah, old people!

Sometimes, when the Pretty One and I are in weddings,
this happens. 

At work, I'm exposed to the two extremes. My boss, the Eternal Optimist (he becomes ashamed of himself if he even hints at complaining about the weather) is engaged to be married in June...probably...in Vegas...most likely. He's just going to wing it. Whatever. It'll work out. Ah, old (optimistic) people! Another younger coworker (I'd call her Bedroom Eyes, but if she ever read this she'd kill me...oops!) is getting married in the fall. She picked out the dates, wedding colors, and dress pretty much immediately. She talks endlessly of groom's cakes, beauty appointments and bridesmaid drama. Her wedding will be elaborate, fun, and thoroughly planned. Ah, young people!

Ah! Young people! (Does anyone else notice that my face
is about three times lighter than my body?!)

And of course, there are all the other weddings: huge, tiny, expensive, simple, drunk, dry, near, far, first, third, young, old. Weddings galore! I feel like there's a ton of blog material here. And I plan to exploit it...how can an Anarchist flower girl not be hilarious? (I'm guessing she will probably yell something about farts during the Pretty One's vows. Is it wrong that I'm excited about this?). In the process, I hope not to offend any blushing brides or starry-eyed grooms...but I did say "exploit," so I'm not making any promises. Congratulations, all you engaged people! I can't wait to use you celebrate with you soon!

My adorable young parents...at their
Hippie/Game Show Host themed wedding,
circa 197-something.

*As in, "No WAY! You guys are sisters?! You two look nothing alike! She's SO PRETTY!"