A Tale of Wubbies
September 23rd 2009 18:20
A friend of mine posted a two sentence status up date the struck terror in my soul. Quite simply it said, "Muh is missing. It is going to be a long night." Instantly I knew that she was in a huge amount of trouble. Long wasn't the correct word to describe the night that she had in front of her. Unless the "muh" was located, my friend was looking at a night she would consider among the worse of her lifetime.
For those who haven't already figured it out, "Muh" is the name her three year old son has given to his favorite sleeping companion, a stuffed sheep. When Tallulah and Gertrude were small, I called their special sleep toys "Wubbie"
Tallulah's "wubbie" was a small stuffed Saint Bernard. She carried it everywhere until the day she decided that the poor dog needed to swim in the toilet bowl. She sobbed until the creature was washed and dried but the next day, plunged the poor dog into the bowl again. My father, a wise man, purchased a duplicate dog.
I should have known that there needed to be a spare Wubbie. I learned my lesson before I ever had children. In of all places, the airport in Frankfurt, Germany.
My friend Hera agreed to drive with me to the airport to see a friend off. While making our way among the crowds we somehow dropped the piece of tattered blanket that her daughter carried for security. We discovered the missing blanket when we got to the parking garage and immediately went back to the terminal to look for it.
Of course, any cleaning person in their right mind would look at the tattered rag and see it for what it was, a rag. And our German was sadly not up to the task of explaining that the bit of flannel we were looking for was not really a blanket for the baby, just a sad little piece of material. A rag.
After retracing our steps and asking every cleaning person we saw if they had picked up a blanket, we headed back to the car, knowing we were in for a long, loud drive.
Surely, we told ourselves, she won't be able to cry for long. She will tire herself out and go to sleep. We were wrong. The child screamed at the top of her tiny lungs from Frankfurt to Nurenburg on the autobahn. Twice we stopped the car and stood on the roadside while the child continued to cry. We offered other blankets, toys, milk but nothing would soothe the poor exhausted child but her blanket. Which was somewhere in a garbage can in Frankfurt.
It was dark when we pulled into the lot of the exchange on the Army post where we lived. Hera ran up a flight of stairs and purchased a replacement blanket seconds before the store closed. She handed it to the crying baby who held it for a second before sliding her thumb into her mouth and pulling it close to her cheek. Within a few minutes, she was sleeping soundly.
So far as I know, that was the first and last time the child's blanket was lost. And I can vouch that she has turned into a lovely young woman with no deep or lasting scars. The scarred ones in this scenario are the parents, who despite their best efforts know that they have cause their child undue agony by failing to provide the correct wubbie.
Many people don't like wubbies for just this reason. The thing is, you just don't know if a child is going to develop an attachment to something. Some never do. If they do however, you are duty bound to keep up with it until such time as it is willing discarded by it's owner.
Tallulah's dog now resides in a box with other things she has outgrown. She still has a blanket that she likes to keep close, takes it with her on sleep overs. I doubt that she would cry if it came up missing...but I am not willing to take that chance.
P.S. Hours after the first update, a second was posted that simply said .""Muh" has been found." I must admit I breathed a sigh of relief.
For those who haven't already figured it out, "Muh" is the name her three year old son has given to his favorite sleeping companion, a stuffed sheep. When Tallulah and Gertrude were small, I called their special sleep toys "Wubbie"
Tallulah's "wubbie" was a small stuffed Saint Bernard. She carried it everywhere until the day she decided that the poor dog needed to swim in the toilet bowl. She sobbed until the creature was washed and dried but the next day, plunged the poor dog into the bowl again. My father, a wise man, purchased a duplicate dog.
I should have known that there needed to be a spare Wubbie. I learned my lesson before I ever had children. In of all places, the airport in Frankfurt, Germany.
My friend Hera agreed to drive with me to the airport to see a friend off. While making our way among the crowds we somehow dropped the piece of tattered blanket that her daughter carried for security. We discovered the missing blanket when we got to the parking garage and immediately went back to the terminal to look for it.
Of course, any cleaning person in their right mind would look at the tattered rag and see it for what it was, a rag. And our German was sadly not up to the task of explaining that the bit of flannel we were looking for was not really a blanket for the baby, just a sad little piece of material. A rag.
After retracing our steps and asking every cleaning person we saw if they had picked up a blanket, we headed back to the car, knowing we were in for a long, loud drive.
Surely, we told ourselves, she won't be able to cry for long. She will tire herself out and go to sleep. We were wrong. The child screamed at the top of her tiny lungs from Frankfurt to Nurenburg on the autobahn. Twice we stopped the car and stood on the roadside while the child continued to cry. We offered other blankets, toys, milk but nothing would soothe the poor exhausted child but her blanket. Which was somewhere in a garbage can in Frankfurt.
It was dark when we pulled into the lot of the exchange on the Army post where we lived. Hera ran up a flight of stairs and purchased a replacement blanket seconds before the store closed. She handed it to the crying baby who held it for a second before sliding her thumb into her mouth and pulling it close to her cheek. Within a few minutes, she was sleeping soundly.
So far as I know, that was the first and last time the child's blanket was lost. And I can vouch that she has turned into a lovely young woman with no deep or lasting scars. The scarred ones in this scenario are the parents, who despite their best efforts know that they have cause their child undue agony by failing to provide the correct wubbie.
Many people don't like wubbies for just this reason. The thing is, you just don't know if a child is going to develop an attachment to something. Some never do. If they do however, you are duty bound to keep up with it until such time as it is willing discarded by it's owner.
Tallulah's dog now resides in a box with other things she has outgrown. She still has a blanket that she likes to keep close, takes it with her on sleep overs. I doubt that she would cry if it came up missing...but I am not willing to take that chance.
P.S. Hours after the first update, a second was posted that simply said .""Muh" has been found." I must admit I breathed a sigh of relief.
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