My kids used to believe in the tooth fairy.
We didn’t intentionally create a mythical being in the minds of our children, but it just sort of happened. Our oldest lost her first tooth one night before bed, and we were as excited as she was. We tucked it carefully under her pillow, kissed her goodnight, and just before closing her door she sighed happily, “I can’t wait to see how much money the tooth fairy leaves me for my very first tooth.”
My heart swelled. This was a milestone.
We closed her door and immediately sprinted in opposite directions, instinctively knowing the same terrifying truth: neither of us had cash. Not a dollar. Not a quarter. Certainly not “first tooth-worthy” money. We tore through couch cushions and junk drawers, emerging with only a sad collection of pennies. Logic would have suggested an ATM run, but logic was not invited into this moment. As far as our emotions were concerned, the progression of life was obvious: first tooth, college, marriage. Time was collapsing!
We were not thinking clearly.
Sitting on the couch with six cents in my hand, I made an executive decision. Christmas was only a week away, and gifts were already hidden. I grabbed one of my daughter’s presents and placed it beside her bed. To justify this obvious deviation from tooth-fairy norms, we added a postcard decorated with wildflowers and wrote a note – complete with just enough lore to trap us forever. This was no ordinary tooth fairy. This was a special one. A one-in-a-million fairy who gave gifts instead of coins. The flowers, of course, were a glimpse into her magical homeland.
My husband suggested this might be a bit much. I reminded him: first tooth, college, marriage…
He conceded.
It was, without question, the worst parenting decision we made that year.
How did we forget that children have twenty teeth? And how did we forget that we had three children?
By the time our second lost his first tooth, it was too late to turn back. His excitement over what the “special fairy” might bring sealed our fate. For years, tooth loss meant emergency store runs, handwritten postcards, and parental dread. While other adults gleefully yanked loose teeth, we briefly considered gluing them back in.
Somewhere along the way, we lost the joy of the milestone.
Losing Focus
I was reminded of those tooth-fairy years recently while talking with young moms about the Christmas season. For many parents, there’s an unspoken pressure to make Christmas perfect. Better Elf-on-the-Shelf placements than last year. Just the right gifts to elicit the right level of excitement. A flawless meal. A card-worthy photo. The expectations multiply quietly but relentlessly.
Like the tooth fairy tradition, what begins as something joyful can slowly morph into something burdensome. Instead of delight, there’s stress. Instead of wonder, there’s a checklist. And if we’re not careful, Christmas itself can become a beautifully decorated distraction.
Our kids experience Christmas through us. What we prioritize, they learn to prioritize. Traditions aren’t the problem – elves, menus, and gifts aren’t inherently wrong – but when they receive more attention than the Advent of Christ, they lose their meaning. Celebrated apart from the incarnation, even the most joyful traditions begin to feel like exhausting tasks. And slowly, we can start to resemble a world that celebrates the season while quietly leaving Christ out of it.
Regaining Perspective
If the wonder of the Incarnation does not overwhelm us with joy and awe, then there is nothing more important this Christmas than refocusing our hearts on Christ.
In the Incarnation, Jesus took on flesh and blood, fully human, yet fully divine. This was not a partial experience of humanity. Scripture tells us He was made like us “in every respect” (Hebrews 2:17), except without sin. He entered our weakness, our suffering, our limitations, so that He could redeem us.
The God we serve is not distant or detached. He is humble, purposeful, and loving. Though He reigns as the holy and eternal King, He also understands the weight of our broken world. That reality alone is staggering…and it is why we celebrate Christmas.
Looking back, I regret that my kids sometimes saw tooth loss as a source of my stress rather than my joy. I had lost sight of what made those moments worth celebrating.
This Christmas, may the Lord restore our sense of wonder. May He help us regain perspective, and not only on our traditions, but on the reason we celebrate at all. And by His grace, may our children see something deeper than lights and presents. May they glimpse the magnificence of Christ…and believe.
