Ruby got this adorable teddy bear as a favor from the sleepover birthday party she attended Friday night. She loved it. After several naming iterations (Coco, Caramel, Ginger), she went with Butterscotch. Her inspiration probably came from being pre-breakfast.
Ruby has been playing with and snuggling him pretty much nonstop. He figured in a number of adventures over the weekend. However, poor Butterscotch had a problem this morning.
“Mom!” Ruby commanded. “Look at his arm.”
Butterscotch’s arm drooped down. His other arm, sprouting directly out of his neck like Ralphie of “A Christmas Story” decked out in his snowsuit, provided a strong contrast. True to the bear’s sunny nature, he kept on smiling.
“Let’s fix it,” I said.
Ruby brought her multicolored box containing her sewing stuff down from her room. She pulled out some brown thread and cut it. I threaded the needle and knotted it. And I, dear readers, whip-stitched B-scotch’s arm back on. Take that, Martha Stewart!
Rewind to yesterday, after church. A regular attender hovered over Ruby’s two teddy bears she brought to church, a slightly larger white one with a red ribbon tied round its neck, and Butterscotch.
“I don’t get to bring my toys to church,” she lamented jokingly. She eyed the two bears.
“What are their names?” she asked Ruby, kindness lighting up her face.
Ruby, suddenly shy, didn’t answer. She clutched her empty hot cocoa cup. They hadn’t been named yet, I guess.
“I collect teddy bears,” the lady told us, her eyes getting a little misty. “I have 1500 at home”, she admitted, shaking her head.
“I’ve had to get rid of some so there’s room for me!”
I had no response to that, so I let it lie. Silence.
“You know,” she started up again, “I see them everywhere. I notice them in commercials and in TV shows. They’re just so cute!”
They are. I’ll admit that. But it reminded me of this.
When we first moved to Shelton, we did a *lot* of house-hunting. One of the homes we visited was a Victorian in downtown Shelton. This photo shows part of the “nursery”. I found the doll collection, which the nursery didn’t completely contain, a bit creepy. It made me queasy. Adults collecting childhood artifacts like dolls and stuffed animals always make me wonder when their switch for growing up got turned to the “off” position. I appreciate the childlike spirit, yet feel some folks never quite made the leap to maturity. Anyone else feel this way? I have no problem with Ruby playing with dolls and stuffed animals. She’s 8 years old. But if she’s still doing it when she’s 28, we need to have an intervention.
Day 12 of Janathon found me running 2 miles outside and doing some body weight exercises inside. Only 19 more days to go!