Friday, July 20, 2012
The other day I stuck Taran in the car to take him somewhere, but honestly I can't even remember where because the whole memory was wiped out by one beacon panic moment of almost losing the beloved K Bear. K is an essential part of every aspect of our day now - accept for maybe baths - and I find myself in an almost daily panic about what would ever happen if he were to be lost. We bring him on every car trip be it five minutes or five hours and K has helped get us through many a hairy car ride. So anyway, we were driving somewhere and I was late, partially because I was running around the house looking for our trusty pal. When we got out to the car, I threw him on the roof (yes folks, gasp at my thoughtless blunder because you can probably guess where this story is going) so I could strap the little guy into his carseat. And then I drove away. Fast. And didn't return for several hours.
By the time we got home from....Ah yes, it's all coming back to me now, the annual food truck festival....it was bedtime. And if K is a trusty partner-in-crime for many a fun activity throughout the day, he is an absolute vital man-on-board for the journey into dreamland. As soon as we pulled Taran out of the car and I didn't see K lying beside him I knew something was terribly wrong. This is the moment I have been dreading; trying to explain to my two-year-old son the inevitable loss of his beloved companion by his scatterbrained Mom. If there is one image that might help you know how this little bear is cherished, think of Taran sitting in his little chair in the living room corner, caressing K's fur and kissing his worn nose, exclaiming "That's nice" after each tender smooch (which is what we say I guess when we see him do this) and "Love you". This is a multiple-times-a-day occurrence. Before Joe could even fully process what happened I was half-yelling "get him in the house and ready for bed. I've got to find K Bear!". This is so ridiculous. We're talking one foot of grungy, fluffy faux fur, stuffed with polyster and I felt like I had just ax-murdered a dog. I was in such a panic it took me five minutes to figure out the best course of action: Drive down the street? I might whiz by too fast and not see him. Walk? Too slow. I even got as far as pulling my car half way out of the driveway then jumped out to grab my bike instead, then realized my car was actually hanging out in the street so I dropped my bike (in the street of course) to pull the car back into the driveway. Basically, I'm just really hoping the neighbors weren't watching this fiasco.
As it turns out, K was lying in the yard three houses down. A few major tire tread marks across his nose and belly, but otherwise intact. I even had time still to handwash him, throw him through the spin cycle, whir him in the dryer on high until he was fluffy and toasty and still be upstairs to read Taran one final bedtime story and get him down for his usual bedtime. With K of course. Now the next time I bring up to Joe that we really need a back-up K, maybe he won't scoff at me.