It wiggled, it jiggled, it dangled for weeks. The first loose tooth in my son Aidan’s mouth hung on by a thread for what seemed like all of kindergarten. So long that it took on a life of its own. So long that I had plenty of time to consider what happens after a tooth falls out. If only.

Finally, eureka: A crunchy bite of carrot, and dinner ended with a first tooth out. momentous! A milestone! “Yes!” Aidan exclaimed ecstatically. “The Tooth Fairy is coming tonight!”

Oh no! I panicked. The tooth fairy is coming tonight!

In the thrilling life chunk leading up to my baby losing his first baby tooth, I completely forgot that I’d need to play the role of yet another storybook character in his childhood: Taker of teeth. Giver of loot. Wearer of imaginary wings.

I knew the tooth was loose. We had talked about the Tooth Fairy. How could I have been so naive—and so completely unprepared? I’m up on ROI and P&l, but I was clueless about current Tooth Fairy economics, and time was flying. Like a true fairy-tale figure, I only had until sunrise to save the world. How much to give?

I pondered in the haze of fairy dust. I needed to know what other 5-year-olds were finding under their pillows so as not to crush the illusion of the benevolent dental sprite. Unsure of where to turn, I did what any modern mom would do: I took to social media.

Facebook to the rescue.

“Quick: how much does the Tooth Fairy give these days?” I posted. what I was looking for was a number, like 1 or 5. But Facebook, like life, is never so simple.

A friend in North Carolina wrote: “A buck or two—if you give too much in the beginning, they come to expect it.” From New York, alternative wisdom: “$20 for the first tooth, then work down from there.” A New Jersey pal posted: “For the first tooth, as many dollars as years old...other times it could be a small gift, a foreign coin...and the Fairy always leaves a note, too!”

Seriously? Who could decide based on all of this? Another friend said that instead of money, the Tooth Fairy left Barbie outfits under the pillow. I have to go shopping now, too? And on it went. From the multitude of answers filling my home page, it became evident that answers and amounts varied by region, state and town. Everyone, it seemed, was making her own rules.

I was confused, exhausted. And then it struck me: You are your own Tooth Fairy. The only truth was to do what made the most sense for my family. And I knew what was best for my 5-year-old: more is better—more bills, that is. Knowing that Aidan never really distinguished between a $20 bill and a $1, I tucked several singles under his pillow, and I fell into bed, spent.

At daybreak, Aidan bounced excitedly into my room. “The Tooth Fairy came last night! And I got some moneys!” All that worry over “how much,” and all that really mattered was that something, anything, was there. Relieved, I looked at Aidan again, only to see his financial elation quickly morph into concern.

“Mom,” Aidan said hesitantly, “Where did the Tooth Fairy take my tooth?”

This time I think I’ll ask on Twitter.