Roan, my seven-year-old wild child has a huge celebrity infatuation happening. He enjoys Ke$ha, so very very much. And I’m ok with that because despite not wanting to, I enjoy Ke$ha, so very very much. For those not familiar – she’s essentially a loud-mouthed slightly inappropriate singer with messy blonde hair, a smattering of freckles across her nose, and a wickedly amazing production team behind her who can dream up musical hooks that plant themselves in your head for days and days and days. Her lyrical abilities are summed up thusly:
“Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy/Grab my glasses, I’m out the door, I’m going to hit this city/Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack/’Cause when I leave for the night, I ain’t coming back.”
(This song is particularly endearing when I hear my friend’s five-year-old say, “Bwush my teef with a bottow of Jack” because that is actually really really funny to hear.)
(To be clear: I am not of the opinion that there is anything funny about a five-year-old actually brushing her teeth with a bottle of Jack.)
(But I am of the opinion that it is funny to hear her brag about it.)
Despite wanting to guide Roan towards age-appropriate music and respect-worthy icons (not really), I cannot help but dance with him and cheer at his uncanny ability to mimic Ke$ha’s affect in speech, dance and gestures. He’s a little spooky that way. I mean, boy can pose and shake it and throw shade like whoa. There are those who would question the wisdom of letting Roan listen to this artist and watch her videos and idolize her so, but it’s been a decision that I’ve been deliberate about and have decided to roll the dice on.
Why? Because Roan is a rule-follower, in the extreme. He also has an overactive sense of guilt (which I feel guilty about….wonder where he gets it?). He doesn’t challenge me very often and when he does and gets a correction, it wipes him out.
For instance: last weekend Roan was playing with a friend, and their feet got gruesomely dirty from mud and snail guts in the back yard. I told them to rinse their feet in the bathtub before they were allowed to run around inside. I was tired, and passing the seven-day marker of Anson’s zillion-day absence. It was time to wind the twin baby tyrants down, and I was dangerously close to being grumpy. Suddenly I hear Roan and his friend screaming with laughter, which made me smile until I found Roan sitting in the bathtub. Fully dressed. Completely immersed in water, which was swishing onto the floor.
Now, this should have been funny. In my world this is pretty stupid-funny. It is slapsticky and clownish and totally in line with the type of shenanigans that would make me laugh until I cry. But it did not made me laugh, it made me growl like a dog, and it made me storm off, get a towel and a change of clothes for the boy and it made me tell him – somewhat harshly – to clean it up and change.
I didn’t need to yell at him because my huffy breaths and stomping feet and mean face effectively leveled my son. He felt terrible. He felt so guilty and sad and sorry. So my big wild-hearted son started thinking about reparations.
Roan has a stash of “passes”. This idea of the pass was started by his teacher. She rewards good behavior with various passes – and I’ve followed suit. They allow Roan to get out of homework for a day, or stay up ten minutes past his bed time, or to have extra choice time, or an extra dessert. Roan collects his passes like an aficionado and doesn’t part with them easily. Somehow he takes equal pleasure in having them as he does in using them.
Back to his reparations. Roan pulled me aside and apologized again after doing his best to clean up. He assured me that he didn’t mean to make me mad, and explained, “It’s….just….so….tempting to get into a bathtub with my clothes on….” And you know? It is. Why? I don’t know. But I get it. Then Roan told me that he had thought of three consequences for what he did. I asked him what they were. And he showed me the garbage can, where three of his passes were laying, all crumpled up. He’d self-consequenced. I had to grab them out and straighten them and hug the guts out of my boy, and then I had to actively self-consequence all the rest of the night for being such a curmudgeon.
All this to illustrate the point that Roan is a rule-follower, almost to a fault. And I do not believe that him liking Ke$ha’s music and being a bit of a fan-boy is going to harm him. So to that end, I’m letting him send Ke$ha some of his baby teeth, as she put a request out to her fans to send her their teeth. So she can make a necklace out of her fan’s teeth of course. Duh.
The thing is, Roan has no loose teeth, nor does he have access to a stash of his baby teeth as the Tooth Fairy has full custody of them. So. Roan had to write a letter to the Tooth Fairy to request some teeth back. He wrote a letter, which killed me with cuteness and magical thinking and I just love love love this boy – trying to be a badass with this bad-girl rock star – and is just being so freaking cute and innocent. Fortunately the Tooth Fairy was compliant with Roan’s wishes (at least 1/2 of the Tooth Fairy. The dad part of the Tooth Fairy wants nothing to do with relinquishing baby teeth to Ke$ha. I’m using my own magical powers of override.) and he now is in possession of two baby teeth to send to his rock-star crush.
Dear the tooth Fairy:
Will you send some of my teeth back? Because Ke$ha is making a necklace of her fans teeth so will you send some of my teeth back to me please ??? Thank You!
To: The Tooth Fairy.
PS. Thank You A lot!
My hope is that when Roan is 40 years old, he’ll not care too much about owning all his baby teeth. My hope is that he will look back and see that his mom was a curmudgeon of sorts at times, but at other times – a conspirator to make the world magical in ways that he would notice but not know the mechanics of. I also hope that he’s found a way to dump the guilt that he feels so acutely. And finally, I hope that Ke$ha actually uses the teeth we send her. See? I have magical thinking and hopes of my own.