Brown's Paper Bag: Things in Common

Last night around 11:30, I had a small breakdown, thinking I lost something important to me.

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Puppy and I have a few things in common.

We both:

love Husband (who I frequently call my Puppy Daddy),
love eating Doritos (though hers are an accident and generally eaten off the floor),
love being outside when it's super sunny with a slight breeze,
love being silly,
love chewing rawhides (ok, just kidding.. That one's all her),
and we both love our Bunny.

We have different bunnies.

Puppy got her first Bunny in January 2012. She immediately made it her life goal to get out the fluff and the squeakers, then to rip off the ears and tail. In that order. After that's all done, she just chews on the nasty things until Husband and I either throw it away because it's so disgusting, or we wash it because she just loves it so much. We've done both. But when we throw it away, she rarely actually knows. What happens is that while he takes her outside, I throw away the old one and cut the tags off the new one, then throw it across the room so it lands randomly. Though I'm pretty sure she realizes it doesn't taste like her old slobber, she hasn't seemed to care yet.

Can't blame a girl for knowing what she wants.

My Bunny means a lot more to me.

Last night, as Husband and I were preparing for sleep, I rolled over and said, "Have you seen Bunny?" Husband said, "No, I haven't seen it." "Her," I insisted. I told him I can't remember packing, moving, or unpacking her. I was instantly distraught.

This is a stuffed animal I creatively named Bunny when I was 3 years old. It was a gift, and one of the few decent memories I have of the Bunny-Gifter. I've had her with me since then. Twenty-one years. I slept with her, unashamed, through elementary, middle and high school. I even brought her to cheerleading competitions. No shame. I brought her to college. I stopped sleeping with her because after more than 10 years, her clothes were tattered and torn. I'd always refused to have them fixed because she wouldn't be the same without those rips from my childhood dreams and playtimes.

So last night when I realized I hadn't seen her in nearly 5 months, I was shattered. What made me feel worse is that it took me five months to miss her.

Has my life become so busy that I don't have time to sit and think about things that are important to me? I know my life's priorities have changed, so of course I wouldn't be thinking about a stuffed animal all the time, but still.. five months? That's a long time to generally ignore something that (still) means so much to me.

This morning, among finishing up dishes, general cleaning of the house (we're hosting Bible Study tonight), making lunch for Husband and I, finding pitchers and bowls for dinner, and playing with Puppy, I found her. Tucked away safely. I'd neatly folded her in half, bending at her fragile hips. I placed her into a canvas bag, folded the top over and put on top of a bunch of soft things. Such care I took when packing her.

I came out of the back room victoriously and showed Husband. He said, "Oh you found it!" "Her." She's now resting safely on my dresser, and the world feels right again.