Living in the land of milk and woobies

Our already-long list is expanding like the universe. Or a black hole. Or maybe the amount of time it takes to get out of the house with four kids in tow. The infamous list I am referring to is the array of objects, small and large, that WE keep near and oh-so-dear to our bosoms. WE would be Emma, Kyra, Jonah and me. Allan and Toni don’t seem to be woobie-type people. So they aren’t part of this particular WE. And, actually, Kyra BARELY makes the cut. She’s attached to bananas. Keys. My pots and pans. And, yes, she will HURT you if you try to pry them from her vise-like grip. But she doesn’t search the house for these best beloveds when she’s under the weather. And she doesn’t hyperventilate if someone actually NEEDS these things when they are not in her possession. Thank God for small favors. But the fact is that she DOES gravitate toward them. And kisses them gently when she reunites with them. And coos sweet nothings into their make-believe ears.

Emma and Jonah, on the other hand, are HIGHLY attached to certain inanimate objects. And by highly attached, I mean these things are as good to them as air. For Emma, it’s two baby blankets, one beaded heart necklace. And shoes. Jonah’s more of a stuffed animal kinda guy. He needs his stuffed rabbit named Tiger. A stuffed snake named Turtle. A stuffed bear named Cutie. And ROCKS. Oh, and let me not forget the empty wipie containers.

You might think this sounds excessive. But I kid you not. They ARE woobies — they make them feel safe, secure and comfortable in this dog-eat-dog world we live in. They help them to COPE much the way Prada apparently helps the devil. And they loathe having to leave home without them… but, sadly, my kids are slowly learning that the world is not very accepting of children who carry around empty wipie containers. Or a suitcase full of stuffed animals, for that matter. Day cares tend to accept children with attachments to things like blankies. But TWO blankies?? And her mother’s Sketchers?? It’s a little much even for the most altruistic day care provider.

I am no one to judge on this topic. I have had my FAIR SHARE of woobies. My favorite was a blue blankie that later became nothing more than an off-white scrap of softness. Along with a bear you might remember me telling about. Many, many BOOKS. And now my husband, although it’s best not to count him, seeing as he is HIGHLY animate. But lately my greatest source of angst and strife is derived from something called a flash drive. You know, one of those USB thingies?? Allan calls it a memory stick. Whatever it is, it is now MY LIFE!!! And it turned up missing two days ago. I normally carry it in my pocket, or around my neck, feeling for it several times a day to make sure it hasn’t gotten afraid and scurried off to hide. I pet it occasionally. In my defense, this THING really isn’t what I am so attached to. It’s what’s INSIDE of it — my soon-to-be-published baby. My NEXT-to-be-published baby. My MIGHT-to-be-published online blog entries. In other words, three quarters of brain material. Which is nothing to sneeze at, you know? The good news is that it turned up at the bottom of my laundry basket. (I KNEW it was a runaway.) The bad news is that now I have NO MORE EXCUSES for procrastinating in the writing department. Or blogging, for that matter.

Blogging… yet ANOTHER type of woobie.