Leah lost a tooth this week, her first molar. She had been complaining about it hurting for a while, and then she came home from school one afternoon all aglow because it had come out and it “didn’t even hurt,” she said. She seemed as excited—almost childlike—as all the other times she’d lost a tooth, and I was excited for her, like all the other times I was excited for her. But then she said:

“Do I have to put it under my pillow?”

I stopped mid-stride and turned to look at her. “No, of course you don’t have to. But if you want to earn a little money, you’ll need to.”

She’s turning eleven next week, and I couldn’t quite bring myself to mention the tooth fairy. But I’m also not handing out quarters without at least a little play acting.  And I thought the allure of money might resonate.

“Nah,” she said. “I don’t need any money. I’m not putting it under my pillow.”

Well, that’s it then.

And for the next couple of days, I couldn’t stop thinking about how this chapter of my life is closing (Ty still loves putting his teeth under the pillow). I thought I’d have a little warning with Leah, a little lead in, similar to all the questions that led up to not believing in Santa anymore. But no, sometimes phases of life just…end.