Always Have a Backup Plan

Yesterday was tough at my house.

E2 left Boppo in her mom's car and didn't miss him until nap time and had no idea where he might be. Once we located him, she was able to stop crying, but it was hard to go to sleep. She woke up crying, which could have been just because she typically doesn't wake up good or because she was still missing the little creature.

Her mom said when she got home, E2 was so excited to see him that she cried. Really. Tears of joy. She said she almost joined in.

Boppo, you see, is E2's "lovey." He's generally an omnipresent part of everything we do. If he's not along for the activity, we usually know exactly where he is and how far we have to walk for them to be reunited (back to the house or car). He's the hippo equivalent of Duck, who has been E1's chosen love. Although lately she has been able to leave him behind and choose a different toy for her companion, he's generally been a part of our life for most of those four years.

A day without Boppo, well, it was tough.

He didn't start out that way. He was a soft, pink and tan, floppy toy pulled from a gift on E2's first Christmas. A present from my mom, he didn't seem all that remarkable and not something E2 immediately fell in love with. In fact, it was E1 who held him for that first picture.

My mom had apparently removed all tags, preparing him to be loved, which became a problem in later years.

You see, I'm a devious Ma. When E1 fell hard for Duck, a similarly misshapen turquoise and yellow toy, it didn't take long before we realized how horrible it would be if something happened to the toy. He went everywhere with her and was a requisite for sleep. More prone to emotional meltdowns, if she got in the car and realized she had left him behind, she would be distraught.

Using his tag as a reference point, I went on Ebay and looked for another duck. I found one that appeared, on the surface, to be identical, although I had failed to note a different pattern in his cloth appendages. It also turned out he was a couple of inches smaller than Duck. Since E1 was still quite young, we were able to send in a ringer now and then. Like when E1 had a meltdown because Duck was at home, but Mom called ahead and he flew to meet her at Ma's house. Because Duck already had some miles on him before we needed to make the switch, she often looked at him a bit questioningly, but couldn't comprehend that there might be two Ducks or quite figure out the difference. Once her attachment eased a little earlier this year, we introduced her to Drake, Duck's little brother and she accepted that he had helped out as a substitute Duck.

Because of Boppo's tag removal, when I tried to find a second soft hippo, (Boppo is how E2 pronounces hippo) I hit a roadblock. Not that there weren't hippos -- there are literally thousands of them on Ebay every day. Hippos, it seems, are a very popular stuffed animal, especially when you have no identifying marks. There's the hippo from NCIS, the dancing hippos from Walt Disney, the hippo from Madagascar and countless other unnamed aquatic mammals of all shapes and sizes. Although I periodically visited Ebay (where you can find anything if you know how to hunt), I always came up dry.

Then, earlier this year, in the recurring insanity of loading three small children and their daily gear into their mom's minivan, Boppo somehow got left at my house. It was almost a 911 call before I located him in the playroom. I put him to bed on a footstool with a friend and sent a picture to E2. She finally managed to go to sleep, knowing he was OK, but it was a bad evening at their house. I renewed my search for Boppo's twin with a vengeance. Finally, during a long, hot, summer afternoon as we sheltered on the front porch coloring and watching the baby bounce in her exersaucer, there he was. I showed E2 the picture. "Boppo," she proclaimed with accusation in her voice as though he'd taken a modeling job and got on the internet without her permission, or perhaps was sneaking around and joined some on-line dating site where his philandering ways were about to be unearthed. (Well, that's what I would have wondered if I found a picture of my most loved on line anyway.) I didn't waste any time agreeing to his "buy it now" price and soon Boppo 2.0 was residing in my closet, looking suspiciously fresh and pink, but ready to step in with his tag also removed..

It wasn't too long after that when I received another one of those calls. Boppo was home in the dryer and had been forgotten, could B2 step in? Since hippos don't fly, I had to smuggle him to the car as Mom insisted he was hiding up front with her. A reverse substitution took place when they got home. He came back to my house and the closet, but when an unexpected round of food expulsion caught Boppo 1 a few weeks later, he stepped up to the plate again. To avoid vacation catastrophes, both Boppos accompanied them on their recent trip to Florida.

Now they are virtually identical as there have been a lot of substitutions and baths, but they reside at the Es' home because no matter how rough a nap may get, bedtime is far more important. I see one of them most every day, although occasionally E2 opts to bring a different toy. It does, however, have to be her decision. So yesterday there was a happy reunion when they all arrived home, and I imagine today she'll keep him extra close to make up for his defection.

E3 to date only requires a two sided cuddly/slick blanket and there is a large and small version to keep her happy as long as we don't leave both at the same house. I expect, however, that she'll follow in her sisters' footsteps when she gets a bit older and that some unlikely creature will become her companion.

When that happens, I hope no one has removed the tags. And that Ebay can once again deliver backup security to a little girl.

Seeking Freedom from Too Much

Things can have a terrible power in our lives. Acquiring them, taking care of them, holding on to them, worrying about them can become consuming. It can turn us into people who seem shallow, or it can become an obsession that takes over our lives.

If you've ever tuned into one of the shows about hoarding, it's easy to see how completely things can wreck a person's life. Those people who typically suffer from an obsessive compulsive disorder, or who are compensating for some loss in their lives, may be extreme collectors, compulsive shoppers, or people who hang onto everything -- even items that have no value. Using things to fill their lives drives away family and friends, leaves them in debt, and sometimes forces them from their homes.

The ways that things wreck the lives of healthy people are more subtle. We have to buy the latest fashions, the "in" bags, the latest tech gadgets, or a new car on a regular basis. Keeping up with which of these things we "need," finding the money to buy them, keeping them safe and paying for them can be almost as overwhelming as the things that take over a hoarder's life. The fact that we don't make our homes unlivable (usually) or wind up on the streets doesn't make the things a lot less powerful.

Or we hold on to the treasures or our past -- toys we played with as children, items from the homes of our grandparents or parents, souvenirs from past vacations. We feel like those items keep the past alive or help us hold on to loved ones who live only in our memories. They are things to be looked at and protected, no matter if their intrinsic value is lost in doing so. They are time capsules of the past littering our lives.

While most people see a house fire as a tragedy, I've occasionally reflected that if a person had their pets, and kept their insurance paid, it might be a blessing.

Although I don't want my home to burn, I have imagined the freedom of starting over free from all the things I've accumulated over a lifetime. Like anyone else, I have my treasures, the antique dolls, the knick knacks, the crocheted afghans, even the old shoes and sweaters; and the newer things like my boots (I love boots), my favorite jeans, the air sleep system, the DVDs and the big screen TV.

When it comes down to it, however, if there were no lives lost, I could do without the things I could not replace. What makes old toys and handed down treasures special isn't the items themselves, but the attached memories, and losing those items would not take the memories away. The only treasure I'd really hate to give up would be the photo albums because those literal snapshots of treasured memories would be irreplaceable, although I could go on without them.

Not long ago I had a discussion with someone who held the other point of view. I said if I could sell most of my old treasures, I would do so. He pointed out he felt the money would quickly be gone and he would have neither money or treasure and that he would hold on to the things he had.

I'm not sure which view is more materialistic. Mine which reduces a lot of memories to money to be reused, or his that simply hangs on to the memory. I do know that my view would leave me with less to drag around.

Instead I've tried to strike a balance between the two. While I'm not selling all of my old toys, I've begun to turn them over to a pair of eager preschoolers, not whincing when they pull the paper finish off the sides of a wooden train or drag an old stuffed toy around lovingly. They're having fun and the memories of those new good times are much more valuable than anything I might recall from the past. Instead of sitting the old toys on a shelf to collect dust (which is where they were until recently), I've surrendered them to the tender mercies of the children who are likely to love them to death. If will be a good way to go.

I do not need the things to hold onto the memories, and instead I hope the things can make new memories for me and the little ones into whose hands they fall. It will be a gradual transition and if we stumble across an item that seems to have a high value, we may sell it instead and trade it for new things to enjoy.

My goal is not to leave my children or grandchildren with a lot of things to burden their lives. I'd prefer the freedom of carrying all I need in a backpack or dragging it along in a suitcase to leaving buildings crammed full of stuff for my children and grandchildren to filter through. Instead I hope there will be only things they remember for a reason, and that they will be handed down or worn out before I'm gone.