'She excitedly revealed that her left front tooth was wobblier than a drunk on a North Sea Ferry'
We've been visited by most of the major mythical characters in our house.
Santa has been, of course, bringing half of China's industrial output with him.
The Easter Bunny makes an annual appearance bearing bucket-loads of chocolate.
The Sandman is usually on hand at bedtime to bring reluctant yawns and heavy eyelids to sleepy tots.
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And Jack Frost is forever making life difficult by crusting our car in ice, usually when we are already ten minutes late for everything.
But, until now, the Tooth Fairy has been suspiciously absent from our humble abode.
Despite having a six- and four-year-old greedily gulping down every sugary treat known to man, there has been a remarkable lack of teeth falling out, going awol or making their rotten way to enamel heaven.
It is not as if we are champions of oral cleanliness.
The number of times our girls dodge the toothbrush is embarrassing – not that we tell the dentist.
But for some reason Poppy, our eldest, seems to have remarkably enduring gnashers.
She was getting quite worked up about it.
While all her friends have gummy gaps wide enough to drive buses through, Poppy's pearly whites have remained steadfastly in situ.
That was until last week.
At last, on Wednesday, she excitedly revealed that her left front tooth was wobblier than a drunk on a North Sea Ferry and would surely soon be making a bid for freedom.
This state of heightened expectation continued for the next 36 hours – as the wobbliness intensified to Oliver Reed proportions – until I arrived to pick her up from school on Thursday night.
There, in the middle of her gum was a massive, toothless hole.
When the big moment had come, she did not even notice it had gone.
Cue much gnashing of teeth (minus one).
"How can the Tooth Fairy come if I've lost my tooth?" she wailed, checking under benches and in old fluffy toffees in her coat pocket.
I did not have the heart to tell her she had probably swallowed it and that her tooth would probably be making a reappearance after her next big meal.
Instead, we agreed to write a letter to the Tooth Fairy explaining the missing tooth was probably somewhere at school, could she look there and accept the letter, which had been beautifully decorated, in lieu of any real enamel evidence.
This we did – and calmed by the thought any sensible fairy would accept her story – she went to bed early to await her response.
Sure enough, the following morning the Tooth Fairy had visited and left in place of the letter a shiny gold pound coin and a note saying she had found the tooth in the school hall – much to everyone's relief.
So now we can happily tick the Tooth Fairy off our list of visiting nymphs. Now I am looking forward to the arrival of Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster.