There's a beauty when imagination and reality clasp hands and bring forth a breathtaking dance.
I suppose I've been pondering this recently as a Pickle lost a tooth and the tooth fairy arrived faster than had ever been her record. On the very same night that the tooth fell out, she arrived with perfect punctuality and with a shiny quarter in tow.
I mean, usually she takes several nights to finally show up, breathless and slightly discombobulated, and has, more-often-than-not, been known to leave itty-bitty notes explaining her tardiness: The dog wouldn't let her in, the bag of pennies was too heavy, the wind storm versus her tiny wings, she had to find our new house, and well, you know, other such excuses of the valid sort.
Upon her mysterious rapid appearance, we determined we must now live closer to her abode. She's a curious one, that tooth fairy.
In my childhood, I seemed to always have grasped that someone else of the human sort was responsible for the coins left under my pillow while I slept, but imagining her story and contemplating how maybe it could be possible stretched my little mind to consider creative solutions. 
Kind of the same thing as putting cookies out for Santa on Christmas Eve knowing full well that my dad would fulfill the role. (We always left his favorites on the plate.) I still loved the story; the invitation for creative thinking. The excitement and the anticipation of imagining something more was possible.
It makes me smile on the inside when the Pickles question the validity of a tooth fairy with a twinkle in their eye, enjoying the fairy tales as much as me. We know the truth. And we embrace reality. But stretching the creative mind with the delight of imagination is a gift of childhood. It's practice for conquering adulthood. 
It's the practice of believing that pursuing an idea,
that even if it sounds like the impossible,
it is at least worth working out the details to be sure. 
Always be creative,
Marie Winfield