My husband and I failed at our tooth fairy duties last night.

 When I picked Ben (Leah) up from school yesterday, he was visibly upset. Well, that's not entirely true. Initially, he lit up when he first spotted me through the fence, shouting, "Mama! Guess what? I lost a tooth!!" I smiled- he was so excited!

 And then, he climbed into the back of our minivan, and his shoulders drooped. "What's up, Ben?" I asked, as I began to back the van out of the parking lot. "You seem upset- did something happen at school today?"

 A big sigh. Pause. "Mama," he says dejectedly, a tone of bitterness entering his voice, "why doesn't the tooth fairy like me?"

 Oh good grief- who knows where this will go, with the autism and all...

 "What do you mean?" I ask carefully. I have learned, through countless missteps and thousands of errors, that the best approach with Ben and his Asperger's is to always start with a question. Never make assumptions, because really, one can never know where his magical train of thought will end up.

 "Well," Ben explains angrily, with his little sister sleeping next to him in her booster seat, and his middle sister looking at him warily, "the tooth fairy only brings me fifty cents. One time I got a dollar. She brings some of the kids at my school twenty dollars!! Why doesn't she like me as much as the other kids? Does she hate me? And honestly, what can you buy with just fifty cents??"

 First of all- can I just say- WHO is paying their children twenty dollars per tooth?? I want names.

 When the tooth fairy first arrived in our home, four years ago (when Ben was Leah, and Leah was in kindergarten), fifty cents was a big deal! I remember going to the bank and getting a roll of half dollar coins, which I set aside in a special velvet bag in my sock drawer. I was prepared! This was so exciting- I got to be the tooth fairy for my child! I remember Leah losing tooth after tooth, leaving special notes and trinkets and drawings for the tooth fairy, and being so excited to find those large, silver coins. Such a special, memorable rite of passage for a small child.

 One summer, two years ago, Leah lost a tooth while we were on vacation. That evening, as we were getting ready for bed, it hit me- I didn't have my stash of silver half dollars. Parental panic! My husband and I scrounged up some change, a dollar's worth of coins, and left a special note from the tooth fairy, explaining that she didn't have her special coins since we weren't at our home. From then on, a dollar was the gold standard for Leah.

 For the next tooth, I went to the bank and got some golden one dollar coins. Leah was so excited- "Mama! It's real gold!" She was still so young and innocent, and a dollar was a big deal to my little girl! I loved that we could keep it simple, and that she was still so enraptured with the magic of the tooth fairy.

 And then, yesterday happened. And then, this morning. Damn being in third grade, and getting too smart, and losing the magic. And tired parents that slack on their tooth fairy duties. And those parents that have inflated the cost per tooth! Twenty dollars?? Really? The price of privilege, I suppose.

 Last night, Ben went to bed early. I figured that he was exhausted, and the thought crossed my mind to check for a tooth fairy note, but I promptly dismissed the thought. I'm sure he fell right asleep, and didn't even remember the note. Big mistake.

 This morning, before I even had a hot cup of coffee in my hands, Ben came out of his room, tears in his eyes. He looked at me with a distraught face, and waited for me to speak.

 "Good morning, Ben!" I tried, with forced cheerfulness. "How did you sleep last night? Is everything okay?"

 "No!" he stormed. "Everything is not okay! The tooth fairy hates me! I knew it! She hates me because I'm transgender! She didn't even come at all!"

 (Parental face palm.)

 Oh, my dear kiddo.

 First of all, I've heard this transgender lament before. And the autism lament. This is not new in our household. Ben often gets confused, misses social cues, and has all sorts of communication missteps because of his Asperger's. When something doesn't go Ben's way, he is quick to blame someone else, and often misperceives that he is being bullied, or that people hate him. We have been working on this idea for years, literally- life is unfair, sometimes people get grumpy and it has nothing to do with you, of course your teachers/friends/family love you, everyone has bad days.

 People don't hate you because you have autism. 

 They don't hate you because you have a girl body and feel more like a boy today.

 For example, recently Ben was trying to play soccer with some older boys at recess (I happened to be a few minutes early for pick-up, and was unluckily assigned to help with yard duty! Lesson learned- always arrive late to pick-up!). Ben was having a hard time keeping up with the big kids, and is clumsy at times on the soccer field, especially compared with these older kids that play soccer daily.

 Eventually, the boys lost their patience, and just started playing around him. Not one of the kids said anything disparaging or mean, they just simply stopped passing to Ben. They were in it to win!

 Ben ran off the field, sobbing, and came and found me across the playground. I sat down on the sidewalk next to him, and he threw himself into my lap, with huge, wet tears sliding down his face. "Mama!" he cried, "Those boys hate me! They don't want to play soccer with me because I'm transgender!"

 Oh dear Lord. Really?? The autism mixed with the genderfluidity is getting waaaaay too complicated.

 With all of the patience that I could muster, I calmly attempted to explain to Ben that this had nothing to do with Ben feeling more like a boy than a girl, but rather, that he really needed to improve his soccer skills before playing with the older kids. "Maybe you can play with the kids your age, or with your sister's friends," I suggested. "They are kind and flexible, and I think you would be perfect with kids that are your age or even younger. Maybe you could teach the younger kids some of your skills, and be more like their coach."

 Eventually, Ben agreed, and happily ran off to play with the younger children. Crisis averted.

 So back to this morning, the crisis of the tooth fairy.

 I explained, once again, that of course the tooth fairy loved Ben, and that she really had no opinion on Ben's gender, one way or the other.

 (Oh, the things that come out of my mouth, as Ben or Leah's mom. Never in my wildest dreams...)

 I also calmly (and most likely with averted eyes, since I felt so guilty for not checking for that damn note!) explained that it was always a good idea to remind one's parents that you might be leaving a note for the tooth fairy. "Parents help to notify the tooth fairy, so you always have to check in with your parents before you leave the note."

 Ben narrowed his eyes, listening carefully.

 Lies, and more lies!

 And finally, my last desperate attempt at saving the magic: "And really, your note is kind of bossy! Let's write a note together tonight, and we will make it very sweet and grateful."

 I waited, mildly proud of my (ridiculous) explanation.

 Ben sniffled a few more times, and then was quiet. And then, he looked me in the eyes, and asked, very calmly, "Mama? Are you the tooth fairy?"

 Pause.  Busted. What else could I say?

 "Um. Yes," I replied meekly.

 Another long pause, while he thinks this through. And then, with a triumphant, startling laugh: "Ha!! I knew it! Aha!!"

 I smiled a guilty smile, and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry that I forgot last night. And you are now sworn to secrecy, because you know an adult secret. You must never tell your friends, or your sisters- keep the magic going for them. This is something that each child has to discover for themselves, once they are ready." Or, in other words, when their parents epically fail at their tooth fairy duties.

 He nods, thinking this through. "Ok. I can do that."

 And then, without missing a beat, "Can I have my dollar now?"

 I had to laugh- the whole scenario was just too absurd.

 Oh this life of mine- tooth fairy failures, autism, fairies that don't like transgender kids.

 I accidentally gave Ben 10 extra cents. Two quarters, and six dimes. I let him keep the extra dime, payment for keeping the magical secret of the tooth fairy.

 He smiled, a gleaming hole where yesterday's tooth had been. Apparently, the tooth fairy does like transgender kids, and autistic kids, after all.

 In fact, she loves them. With all of her heart.