My kids love their stuffed animals. They have a menagerie, and most of their beloved stuffies are named. There’s Rainbow, Heartsy, Thomas, Apple Sauce, and Milkshake, to name a few. Mostly, these toys cause little controversy, as one would expect from sewn fluff balls. But two recent anecdotes illustrate my role as a Jekyll and Hyde mother.
I Am Jekyll
Before the onslaught of cheap plastic crap invaded our home on Christmas morning, we did a toy cleanse. Vivian and William were both quite happy to donate some of their action figures and stuffies to other kids who may have less. Vivian was particularly eager. I kept saying, “Are you sure you want to get rid of that?”
“I’m sure,” she’d reply, and place it into the box.
Fast forward two weeks. It’s past bedtime, and Vivian, sobbing through hyperventilating breaths, finds me.
“I…I…I..miss Rainbow Bear,” she says. “I shouldn’t have given her away. William’s playing with his Rainbow so nicely. I miss mine, a lot.” Insert quivering lip action.
“Are you sure you gave Rainbow away?” I asked. “I don’t think you did.”
I lifted Vivian up, assured her that some child was so happy with her stuffy, and carried her back to her room.
“But I miss her, Mommy,” she cried. “I made a mistake. A really big one.”
“I know you miss her,” I said. I tucked her in, and then I opened her closet door. Bingo.
“Is this who you’re missing?” I asked, holding Rainbow.
“Rainbow!” she said, grabbing her lost bear. “Thank you, Mommy!” We hugged. Then later she said, “But I put her in the giveaway pile.”
“Well,” I said, “I pulled her out. I thought you might miss her.”
I am Jekyll.
Perhaps. Or maybe…
I am Hyde
Just to assure you I haven’t gone all life-is-perfect on you, here’s the evil anecdote.
Vivian, clearly bored that I won’t play school with her, decides to hand wash her stuffy, a lamb the size of a pork chop.
She brings me the soggy thing, wrapped in a towel.
“The fastest way to dry her,” I explained, “is to put her on the vent.” Is was -20 outside, so our furnace was working overtime. I placed the stuffy on the register.
Vivian waved her hands over the heat, smiling at our experiment.
I too smiled. Then I said this:
Vivian paused and looked down at her helpless stuffy while she processed what I said. “Mommy!” she yelled. “That’s not funny.”
But it was to me. I’m still laughing, a devious mommy cackle.
I am Hyde.
It’s Whiteboard Wednesday, so I ask:
What bizarre things have you heard or said this week?