My son asked me if the tooth fairy didn't like us. I had to get real about our finances.

• My son asked whether the tooth fairy didn't like us after he received $1 for his tooth.
• With tears in his eyes, he said his friend got $5 for each tooth.

"Doesn't the tooth fairy like us?" my freckle-faced son asked.

I chuckled as I loaded the dishwasher, but then I glanced up and saw the tears pooling in his eyes.

"Oh, honey, of course, she likes you. Why would you think she doesn't?" I asked.

"Well, my friend gets $5 from her, but we only get $1. I just don't understand," he said.

An exasperated sigh escaped against my will. I felt like yelling, "Are you freaking serious? Five dollars? Who are these parents, and do they not think about the rest of us?"

Instead, I held my son in silence while I tried to figure out how to save his heart while remaining honest. After all, my husband and I worked full-time with side gigs, shopped at thrift stores and garage sales, and drove used cars because we couldn't afford to buy new ones.

Finally, I said, "Well, honey, the tooth fairy and Santa and the Easter Bunny all know about each family and what their lives are like. So they make decisions that fit each family just right. Isn't that cool?"

"Hmm," he said. "Is that why our gifts from Santa are unwrapped, but some of my friends get them in special paper?"

"Exactly," I said, exhaling.

I didn't want to burden him with our finances

He was appeased in the moment, but it was not the first or last time the issues of material wealth would come up.

I struggled to find the balance between my own upbringing — where I was made to feel like a financial burden — and going too far on the opposite end by spoiling them. I wanted to raise responsible, caring children, but I didn't want them laden with adult burdens and guilt like I was. Unlike my siblings and me, they would have the opportunity to be kids.

Still, it was time to talk about money.

We didn't tell our two sons how much we earned but that we had to live within our means, and that meant if we couldn't pay for it now, we either didn't get it or we saved and bought it when we could. We thought of examples of items we'd done this with and told them they could do it, too.

"For example, you know how you want that $300 Nintendo Switch?" we said. "That's a bit much for a gift, but we'd love to see you save up for most of it, and then maybe we could pitch in to help you pay the rest."

They bought things they wanted themselves

Our boys reacted with equal parts worry and excitement, wondering how they'd save up enough while grabbing notebooks and pens to plan for pooling their resources and setting up a sharing schedule. Still, guilt threatened to engulf me at times. Wasn't I still reenacting my childhood here? I was forcing my children to buy their own items like I had to. The difference was that we would help them, we weren't making them pay for essentials, and we showed them love and acceptance.

Now they are teenagers, and our sons have saved up for binoculars, Nintendos, gaming computers, a kayak, and a high-end camera. In every situation, we told them how proud we were they set a goal and reached it.

The biggest reward for us as parents came the day one of our sons said that he noticed his friends sometimes didn't care about or take care of their own stuff. "I really appreciate what I have," he said. And that was all I wanted.