Loose Change

I hate change. I know that it's inevitable and often for the best. I know that resisting it is a losing battle. But I just don't like it.

A few examples:
Moving. We are currently in the process of selling our condo. We really need more space. We want to give the boys a backyard and live closer to school and work. I want to move out yesterday. But. There's always a "But." Fast forward to the day when we close this door behind us. I will be in the kitchen hugging a wall, crying, feeling guilt, regret and huge sadness over leaving the first home my husband and I bought together and brought our new babies home to. I will have terrible seller's remorse and under no circumstances will I want to leave. I will have to be pried away with a pliers.

OPH.  This was the restaurant my family owned growing up. A year after my dad died my mom sold it. It had been a massive albatross and she couldn't get rid of it fast enough. I considered selling it a terrorist act. My dad built it from the ground up. It was where I had grown up, worked, had my birthday parties, spent time with my family after school, on weekends and during the summer. It was the place where I first fell in love. (Okay, I was 13 and it was puppy love. But still.) It was my home. Selling it was unfathomable to me. I wanted to box the restaurant up and keep it in my room – not hand it over to someone else who couldn't possibly take care of it like we did. Yet, we sold. My mom was free and entered a less-stressful phase of her life. I entered therapy.

The Sears Tower.  I will never call it anything else. Also, will I not tell my kids it has any other name.


Nail polish. The minute I commit to a new color I regret it. Weeks later, when I remove the chipped and faded remains of "Friar Friar Pants on Fire!" from my toes I actually have a bit of anxiety over it. Maybe it wasn't such a hideous color after all. Maybe I should give it another try. Yes, I'm serious.

But back to my point. (I do have one.)

Last week we discovered that our oldest son, who's almost six, has two loose teeth. His first. He was beyond excited as everyone in his class had already started losing teeth. I made a huge deal of this, hugging him, telling him how exciting this was and that I'd call the tooth fairy immediately to let her know. We did a little happy dance. Then I went into my bathroom and cried.

For the past six years I've wondered when my boys would make certain changes. Start sleeping through the night, potty train, eat like human beings. But losing their baby teeth was never one of those milestones I had looked forward to. I love their tiny, perfect little baby teeth – how their faces look with their little smiles. This change makes me mourn all the little things about them, that soon won't be so little anymore.

Because despite all the hardships of raising young kids, I know that these are the sweet years. And although some days feel like they are 120 hours long, the years fly by way too fast. I want my boys to stay small and snuggly and not turn into teenagers who remind me I'm not cool, slam doors in my face and tell me that I don't understand anything. Losing their baby teeth is the first real physical part of this process and I want to slam the door on this evolution.

That said, I knew enough kids growing up who weren't lucky enough to grow up. Illness took them way too early. So I am grateful every day for the fact that I have two healthy, growing boys. I just wish it didn't all have to change so fast. (Sleep habits aside....I think babies should be sleep-trained before they're allowed to leave the delivery room.) And this change just seems so sudden. I mean, my oldest son didn't start getting teeth until he was close to a year old. So he's only had these teeth for 4 1/2 years. Sure, he has a few cavities and sealants, but overall they are white and straight and chew things like meat and strawberry-flavored Twizzlers just fine. So I don't get the need to expel them so quickly. I mean, if I were to apply this take-and-toss theory to other things, say, furniture, I should have incinerated my couch a decade ago.

But, quite unfairly, I wasn't made CEO of my boys' physical growth. So, my sons' teeth will fall out on their own schedule (not mine), leaving small, temporary gaps in their smiles – and permanent gaps in my psyche. And I realize that the only way I'm going to cope with these changes, will be to change my attitude about change.

But with 38 more loose teeth to lose and puberty on the horizon, perhaps the tooth fairy should leave a little extra change for me as well – to cover the therapy that's going to take.

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