“My Best Tooth Fairy Friend” is like “Elf on the Shelf” for kids who’ve lost teeth
Just when we thought modern parenting couldn’t get any crazier, along comes the latest gimmick. First it was the Elf on the Shelf. Then it was Mensch on a Bench. And then the Birthday Elf on the Shelf. And now, behold. My Best Tooth Fairy Friend – a creepy, winged troll-ish doll reeking of consumerism and preying on our parenting vulnerabilities.
As part of a “tooth fairy survival kit,” for $34.99 – plus shipping and handling because this nonsense isn’t even eligible for Amazon Prime – parents get the doll, a sticky-sweet book, and some stickers. And because having a loose tooth can apparently be pretty traumatic, the BTFF is “there to comfort and watch over” kids. At the first sign of a wiggly fang, she will “travel back and forth to Tooth Fairy Land with presents, surprises, and sometimes pranks.”
Translation, parents: The pressure just skyrocketed and your to-do list just got a whole lot longer.
Here’s how the BTFF “survival kit” works: Doting parents give their child the BTFF at the first signs of a wiggly tooth, and then the whole family waits with bated breath for the tooth to fall out when – hallelujah! – the tooth fairy descends upon the household with her magical gifts of notes, stickers, and cold hard cash. (Note: the cold hard cash isn’t included in the BTFF kit so that’ll cost you extra.)
Parents, we’ve got to stop this madness. What ever happened to a couple quarters or maybe a crumbled up dollar bill squeezed under a pillow? When did parenting become this consumeristic quest to create the “perfect” childhood memories? And where does it all end?
Let’s be honest, it’s hard enough to creep into a darkened room, not yelping when you step on a Lego, and then shoving a dollar bill under a kid’s pillow without waking them. The last thing we need is a creepy, judgmental doll giving us side-eye and a book to over-inflate our kids’ expectations.
My son lost a tooth yesterday and it was hard enough just to remember to put something under the pillow. In fact, my husband and I didn’t remember until the next morning. After exchanging desperate looks that said, please tell me you remembered, we realized we’d both neglected our tooth fairy obligations. Because life is busy as fuck, we are exhausted as hell, and after pulling tooth fairy duty more than a dozen times in the past few years, we’re kind of over it.
Look, parents. Enough. Let’s call a truce and cut this shit out. Do we really need My Best Tooth Fairy Friend, not to mention Elf on the Shelf or Mensch on a Bench or all these other ridiculous – and expensive – materialistic obligations masquerading as “toys?”
It’s not even Halloween and my kids are already pestering me for an Elf on the Shelf – which will only be met with disappointment, frustration and guilt. It has to end. We’re driving ourselves crazy with this one-up-man-ship and consumer-driven quest to “buy” a magical childhood when childhood is already inherently magical.
I suppose we have to hand it to the clever folks who are making a buck by tapping into parents’ desire to give their kids a happy childhood. But if you believe that the BTFF is all you need to create a happy childhood, they probably have a bridge to sell you too.