The Loose Tooth Lesson

The day was just beginning, and I already felt defeated.

I was overwhelmed as I looked at my To Do List for that day. So many things needed to be done that I knew I’d be up all night to get half of them done. The day was just beginning, and I already felt defeated.

As I was making coffee, my 11-year-old son, Nathan, came into the kitchen. “Mom, there’s a book I want on Amazon,” he said. “Can I spend my allowance to buy it?”

I sat down at the computer to look at the item he wanted. It was Star Wars, as everything was in his life these days.

When I looked at the price of the book, I realized it was two dollars more than his allowance. “Do you have any money left from last week? Because this book is…”

Before I could finish, Nathan held up his hands to stop me. “Mom, I already know what you’re going to say. I’m two dollars short. But I’m planning to lose a tooth today.”

I burst out laughing. He had me and he knew it. The tooth fairy at our house always paid exactly two dollars for teeth. Plus, the orthodontist had just told us that Nathan had just a few more teeth to lose before he could get his braces, so I’d been encouraging him to get them out.

“Do you even have any that are loose?” I asked.

He nodded and showed me. “I’ll wiggle it all day,” he promised. So I ordered the book he wanted. Then I started working on my To Do List. As I expected, I worked all day and barely got through half of the tasks.

At bedtime, Nathan’s tooth was not under his pillow. It was still in his mouth. When I asked him about it, he said, “I got busy playing with the dogs and I forgot to wiggle it.”

I smiled. “That’s okay. I got busy too. Only half of my To Do List is done.”

“What do you still need to do?”

I listed some of the tasks I hadn’t gotten around to yet.

Nathan frowned. “Did you do anything fun today?”

I thought back and then shook my head. “No, there wasn’t time.”

“Can you only do the things on your list?”
 
“I try to do those things first, and then I can do something fun after the things on the list are done.”

“Mom, how often do you actually finish your list?”

It was a good question. The honest answer was never.

Nathan could read it on my face. “I planned to lose my tooth today, but I didn’t. And it’s okay. If you don’t finish your list, that will be okay too.”

I hugged him and said, “You’re such a smart kid. I’d planned to work on my list some more after I tucked you in, but I’m not going to. All of those tasks will still be there tomorrow.”

He smiled. “What are you going to do instead? Something fun? You need to do something fun.”

“You’re right. Something fun it is.”

After I left Nathan’s room, I remembered the load of laundry still in the dryer. I was tempted to get it out and fold it, but I’d promised Nathan I’d do something fun.

I put on my pajamas and read a novel I’d wanted to read for months. It felt wonderful.

The next morning, my husband, Eric, asked Nathan if his tooth had come out yet. Nathan shook his head. “Mom and I decided last night that sometimes plans change and that’s okay,” he said. “I planned to lose my tooth yesterday, but I didn’t. I taught Mom that she doesn’t have to do everything she planned to do every day either.”

Eric smiled. “That’s a lesson she needed to learn, Bud.”

I overheard their conversation and smiled. Eric was right. It was a lesson I needed to learn. My 11-year-old son felt he needed to give me permission to take some time off and have fun. What message was I sending him? I needed to make some changes.

A few days later, Nathan’s book arrived from Amazon, but that tooth was still in his mouth. That’s okay though. Because that load of laundry was still in the dryer, but I was halfway through my novel.

As Nathan and I snuggled on the couch, reading together, he smiled. “I’m glad you decided to have fun, Mom. Even though all of the work isn’t done.”

I realized that all of the work will never be done. No matter how hard I tried, I’d always have tasks on a To Do List. But now, thanks to a little boy with a loose tooth, having fun is one of those tasks.