For Jordan...

I just couldn't help myself. I love the look on his face in this photo and felt compelled to post it.

He's a great guy! Love you , Son!

Mr. Bear (part two)

So even though the rest of us were getting tired of hauling Mr. Bear everywhere, Jordan was most happy when Mr. Bear was in sight.

My plan was flawless.

I knew that each of my children understood the realities of laundry. Mysterious things happened when things went to the laundry room. Socks disappeared, colors changed and occasionally things got smaller.........

As Jordan sat on the couch upstairs with his blankie (to which he was never overly attached), I set to work in the basement laundry room. I loaded both the bears into the washing machine with some towels and a good dose of detergent and fabric softener. As the machine churned away I headed upstairs to work in the kitchen-getting a batch of cookies going, tidying up, checking on Jordan and his sister and ultimately being totally distracted by the sound of the magic machine at work in the laundry room.

The moment I heard the "end of cycle" bell ring, I bolted down the stairs to load my loot into the dryer. I was halfway through my plan and I was determined to see it through to completion without interruption. With everything safely stowed in the dryer, I went back upstairs to continue with the morning chores as the towels and bears tumbled dry.

I got Sara and Jordan busy with some toys in the play room. Jordan was starting to ask for his bear-wandering around the room muttering, "Mr. Bear" as he examined the mob of Fisher Price Little People at his disposal.

The dryer bell chimed not a moment too soon and I made a bee-line for the laundry room, anxiously praying the children would stay upstairs long enough for me to make the switch undetected.

I pulled everything out of the dryer! I was sick with worry that something might have gone wrong but as I untangled towels and bears, to my delight, everything was PERFECT! Both bears were fresh, clean, fluffy and ready for action. I hastily stuffed Mr. Bear in the Goodwill bag I kept behind the dryer. "Yes GIrls; I always had a Goodwill bag in the laundry room so that's probably where (insert missing item here) went." But that's another story.....

I gave the Little Mr. Bear a good shake and headed up the stairs. I was absolutely vibrating with anticipation as I entered the playroom. "Mr. Bear?!" Jordan inquired as I came in the room, Little Mr. Bear behind my back. "Oh Buddy, look what happened to Mr. Bear in the wash!! He got smaller! The machine must have shrunk him! It's like magic!"

Sara looked like she was in shock. Jordan was staring at the bear with disbelief. "That's NOT MR. BEAR," he howled. "Sure it is, Son. He just got smaller. See, it's your bear, just littler," I replied in the most reassuring mom voice I could muster. I was losing ground. Jordan's face was getting redder, his little fists were clenching and unclenching. He was shaking his head. Tears were squirting out and down his round cheeks. "It's Mr. Bear, Son. He's clean and fresh and little. Isn't he cute?" Jordan was devastated. He held the bear in his hand and cried and cried and cried. Then he cried some more.

Sara lost interest almost immediately. "That's kinda cool." And she was off playing again.

When the big girls came home for lunch, they marvelled at the mysteries of laundry and tried to comfort Jordan. They both said the new Mr. Bear was definitely an improvement since he was easier to carry and could even fit in a pocket if necessary.

But Jordan was inconsolable. He curled up on the couch with the Bear and sobbed for most of the day.

When his Dad came home that night he asked, "What's wrong with Jordan?" The sisters replied in unison that Mr. Bear had shrunk in the wash and Jordan was sad. Jordan wouldn't eat his dinner and continued to cry and sob for the rest of the evening.

Wally and I deposited a very unhappy little boy in his bed that night with the much smaller Mr. Bear nearby. I was having second thoughts; maybe this wasn't such a great idea. "You can't give him the old bear now. It will screw him up entirely," his dad told me later that night as I fretted. Wally counselled, "Parenting is about being consistent, not changing your mind, sticking to your guns...He'll wake up and have forgotten all about Mr. Bear. He'll be fine. Don't worry and DON'T GIVE HIM MR. BEAR"

Three days later...Jordan was still unhappy; miserable might better describe his state and I was a nervous wreck. He had cried non-stop, even sobbing in his sleep. He hadn't eaten properly since the first day-skipping lunch and then only picking at subsequent meals. In addition to emotional turmoil, my little slugger was probably losing weight. I was wracked with guilt and basically the whole situation was spiralling out of control. The girls were no longer entertained and were beginning to treat their brother with disdain. I had to act.

I slunk to the laundry room, rummaged through the Goodwill bag and retrieved Mr. Bear. I climbed the stairs slowly and approached the couch where my little snot encrusted man child lay. I held out the bear where he could see it.

"MR. BEAR!" he squealed. "Mr. Bear is back!!" He jumped up immediately, beaming from ear to ear, dancing a little happy dance that would rival any NFL display. Sara came running with all the commotion. "It's a miracle." she said solemnly and went back to her toys.

Jordan was overjoyed. Mr. Bear and Little Mr. Bear became fast friends. And we all lived happily ever after, somehow.

PS: As Jordan grew, the Mr. Bears went on many adventures but eventually lived in a hammock above his bed. In honor of the Mr. Bears, however, Jordan did have a "tiny Mr. Bear" that he clipped on the rearview mirror of his car. Today the family of bears are stowed safely in a rubbermaid waiting to move in with Jordan and his wife, Sara- probably when there's a new little boy to love them.

Mr. Bear (part one)

My son Jordan is a good man but he has repeatedly expressed his disdain over my choice to begin blogging. "Journal it, Mom, and I'll read it but don't ask me to follow something so trendy as a BLOG!"

As soon as he said that, the thought came to mind that I needed to blog about him!

"That'll show him who's in charge."

When Jordan was much smaller, he had a companion we affectionately referred to as

"Mr. Bear."

Mr. Bear was a large stuffed Koala Bear and Jordan LOVED him! I don't remember why I gave my infant son such a large stuffed toy but the bear was pretty much the same size as the child. Mr. Bear was carted around with the baby boy everywhere he went and people would always comment on how "adorable" they were. As the child began to toddle, he could often be seen dragging Mr. Bear along. Mr. Bear and Jordan were inseparable!

When Jordan was about two, Mr. Bear was starting to show some wear and tear. His fur was matted. He was sort of losing his shape. He'd been through the washer and dryer more than any bear should. And it was becoming a bit cumbersome. Jordan was a big boy from day one (10lbs 6 oz BIG!) but now he was a big toddler with a big bear in tow. Add to the boy and his bear, his wiry, hyperactive barely three year old sister, the other two girls ("does he have to bring that stupid Mr. Bear EVERYWHERE, Mom?!") and I was getting a little loaded down trying to keep track of all the kids and toys and stuff I was hauling around every time I left the house.

One day, I volunteered to clean the toys in the Nursery at our church. A recent directive from the church administration had suggested that all stuffed toys should really be removed from the church's nurseries because they were germ collectors/distributors. As I was sorting through all the toys and separating out the stuffies, I happened across the answer to my "Mr. Bear" situation!

There in the bottom of one of the boxes was a miniature Mr. Bear! This smaller version was clearly brand new and although he was only about one tenth the size of Mr. Bear, he was an exact replica. As soon as I saw that Little Mr. Bear, I had a plan. "Can I take this little bear home?" I asked. "Sure, the stuffies are just going in the dumpster. If you want that little guy, he's yours." I hastily stowed the new baby bear in my backpack (of course I carried a backpack!) and set out to carry out my sneaky, sneaky plan.

The next morning after I had deposited the two oldest girls at school, I rushed home to get going on the laundry. "Jordan, Mr. Bear needs a wash. Let's get him all nice and clean." As usual, I pried the Bear out of Jordan's little paws and coaxed the bear into the machine for a bath with the towels. We'd done this before and Jordan had learned that he liked the fresher Mr. Bear so it was not too much of a problem. Jordan trusted me and understood that if he could be patient for the cycle, his bear would return to him fresh and huggable. As I settled my unsuspecting son on the sofa with his blankie and a Disney movie, I actually felt no guilt or remorse over what I was about to do. When mother's get worn out and desperate, they can be heartless.

(to be continued....)

"Going Down?"

My office is on the 9th floor of the downtown business tower. Generally, I take the stairs. Nine flights of stairs a few times a day is good for woman my age.

The other day, however, I was tired and loaded down with a bit of "baggage" so I opted for the elevator.

I was enjoying the ride down when the elevator abruptly stopped on the fifth floor. Now the fifth floor has been locked off for months. It's been under construction (or reconstruction) and the contractors didn't want anyone accidentally wandering on to the "site". Needless to say, I was a bit surprised to see the doors opening.

Imagine my further surprise when I was greeted by another ANGRY MAN! And this time he was clearly angry with me.

"What are you doing in the service elevator?" he growled.

I realized that to get off on the fifth floor might actually be like jumping into a black hole and I really had no where else to go so I held my ground, shrugged my shoulders, smiled my biggest "dumb old lady smile" and muttered, "Is this the service elevator? This isn't a service elevator...what?" I looked as sweet and confused as possible and waited for him to BACK OFF!

But he shoved his cart in the door and yelled at me again..."What are you doing in the service elevator?!!?" The thought occurred to me that I could have made it down and up the stairs twice by now and this guy was not anything I was going to deal with rationally at the end of the day.

I put my fist on the close door button, shoved the cart out with my left foot, peeked around the boxes and calmly replied, "Going down."

Welcome?!

There is a sign beside the door at the bank in the building where I work:

WELCOME

The other day I was rushing back to the office after lunch and I glanced up the street to the main entrance of the building and saw

at least 12 angry men crowded around the door - arguing! Normally I would just put my head down and plow through a situation like that but on this day I just didn't have the energy to deal with the perils of modern urban life.

That welcome sign just jumped out and begged me to duck in and cut through the bank. It would make getting into the building so uncomplicated...

At least that's what I had in mind until I was stopped in my tracks by the local rent-a-cops who obviously hadn't noticed the ruckus 100 feet up the sidewalk. "Do you have business in the bank, Ma'am?"

That adolescent in costume actually called me MA'AM! Seriously, he gave me no choice. I smiled sweetly, batted my lashes and told him a bare faced lie!

"Of course I do, Honey. Gotta get my banking done before I'm late for work. Thanks."

He actually opened the door for me. And I never looked back.