It's okay, don't be blue...

Ever have one of those instances when your precious child--the one you gave birth to, and who you know and understand as deeply as one human being can relate to another--throws you a wicked slider that sends you back to the Parental Dugout hanging your head in dejection? (For the non-baseball-oriented: it means a situation you thought you had well in-hand, but which results in an unexpected Strikeout, seriously bringing down your MBA... Mom Batting Average : ) Anyway, it all started innocently enough, with the nightly tucking-in ritual. I was just pulling the cozy fleece blanket up under Riley's chin when I noticed his bedraggled, beloved Blue Bear (Riley's delightfully simple-yet-descriptive name for a...blue teddy bear) slumping in the corner. "I'm about to do laundry," I informed my sleepy son, "do you think Blue Bear needs a wash?" Now, this particular stuffed animal has been Riley's absolute favorite, most special companion since...well, practically since birth. I believe this is the second or third edition, since we've replaced them as they've become too tattered or just plain...brownish rather than sky-blue. Not only has Blue Bear adorned Riley's bed since he was a tot, but he's also come with us on every trip we've ever taken. So trust me when I say this little guy is a bonafide member of Team WestEnders.

But...somewhere in the back of my mind, I guess I was thinking that Riley's 8-1/2 years old now, maybe reaching the end of the "Stuffed Pal" stage, and possibly ready to give up Blue Bear sometime soon...ish. So out of my mouth came the following statement: "Wow, buddy, Blue Bear's looking pretty beat up! We might have to replace him before too long." I mean really, how innocuous is that? How well-intentioned? How...apparently completely inflammatory. Next thing I knew, after I kissed his cheek and turned to leave, I was startled by an outbreak of sobbing from Riley's bed. We're talking full-blown, passionate despair here, with the gasping breaths and the wailing and the gushing tears. What. The. Heck. Just. Happened? In gulping bursts, he managed to squeeze out, "I don't want to throw away Blue Bear!" "No, no, NO" I hastened to assure him, using my most soothing Mom voice, "that's not what I meant at all! I was talking about getting a brand new one!" Unfortunately, instead of doing the trick and calming him down immediately, this only served to add fuel to the hysterics: "But it has to be exactly the same! Everything! Exactly! The same!" O-kaaaay, I get it...but I also knew that the probability of us finding that particular specimen was, shall we say, not bloody likely (please supply your own British accent).

To achieve Bedtime Peace, I promised to only bathe Blue Bear for now, and to return him the very second he finished fluffing in the dryer (which I did...and sometime later during the night Riley evidently found him, because when we went in to wake him the next morning, we spied the two of them snuggled tightly together. Yeah, I was soooo wrong: he's nowhere NEAR moving past his Fuzzy Friend phase. In retrospect, the fact that Riley insisted on including Blue Bear in this year's Brother Holiday Photo should have given me a huge clue. DUH.) However, by breakfast time the storm had apparently passed, as Riley was able to address the discussion with a much more tranquil and rational demeanor. In fact, he readily agreed that perhaps it would indeed be a swell idea to retire the aged, flattened, scruffy Blue Bear in favor of a fresh, clean one. I remembered that the original had been made by Gund, so we went to our most trusted and preferred online retailer--Amazon, of course--and rather quickly and easily located a bear that Riley deemed acceptable. Okay, this is my little firecracker we're talking about, so really the process involved a great deal less logical, systematic searching and weighing of options...and more gleeful hopping around and proclamations of "Best. Mommy. EVER!" when I clicked the Purchase button. (Also I got a heartfelt "Thank you for buying me that....Gunk Bear, Mommy." I totally think that's what he should be called when he arrives, don't you?)

So my baby, even though he sometimes sounds like he's 8-going-on-14, unexpectedly wants to cling to some of his childhood habits a bit longer. I'm 100% fine with that. Oh, I almost forgot: the final, critically-important element of our New Blue Bear Bargain was that Old Blue Bear will be awarded a place of honor in the family cedar chest, as a treasured memento of Riley's Early Years. Although I feel certain he will be visited, taken out, and hugged frequently, he has definitely earned his Final Resting Place. Sleep well and sweet dreams, Blue Bear!