Anyone who knows Meera knows Bunny too. “Bunny Bun” is Meera’s beloved lovey/attachment object/constant companion/most valued possession. He is Meera’s best friend (and yes, interestingly enough, despite its pale pink plushness, it is and has always been, according to Meera, a “he”). Bunny Bun has always gone everywhere with us. Meera has never slept a wink without Bunny Bun. Meera has never gone to daycare/school/a playdate/doctor’s appointment/or any appointment/or any event ever without Bunny Bun. Bunny Bun is a stinky, matted, permanently stained despite being washed weekly, loved-beyond-loved lovey.
We have, like any family who has kids with serious attachment objects, had our fair share of crises related to Bunny Bun. Meera has hid him in hard-to-remember places. Meera has temporarily lost Bunny Bun. And we’ve gone on some crazy-hard-core all-hands-on-deck family searches through every square inch of the house/garage/yard/shed/pool/hotel/boat/plane/train/automobile to find him. One time Meera even accidentally dropped Bunny Bun off a pier into the ocean and we had quite the family bonding experience as the five of us frantically-adreneleine-pumpingly worked together to fish Bunny Bun out of the sea before he was swept away to the depths. But never have we actually had to put Meera to bed without Bunny Bun.
Tonight, when it was time for bed, Bunny Bun was nowhere to be found. We went through our usual family Bunny-Hunt to find him. But we just could not locate the Bun Bun. Through intense interrogation of Little Miss Meera (interrogating a 4-year-old is a lesson in diligence, patience, and cunning), we came to discover that Bunny Bun had been left at school. There were tears. And sweaty palms. And some snippy words exchanged between two parents (nothing like a lost Bunny Bun to provoke some serious marital stress). After a phone call between Braydon and Meera’s teacher, we came to find out that Bunny Bun, was, in fact, probably left on the playground.
The thought of Bunny Bun sitting out, in the dark and damp, all night long, on the school playground, 20-minutes-away-from-home, all alone — and the thought of Meera trying to make it through the night without him — was enough to push all five of us over the edge.
Braydon promptly jumped in the car to make the trip, at 8:00pm, to the school, armed with our most powerful flashlight, and a determination to find that Bunny Bun that only a father of a four-year-old-with-a-serious-attachment-object can know. And find it he did. Sitting right there, all alone, in the dark and damp, on the playground, was Bunny Bun. His text home, “I HAVE BUNNY!” was received with probably one of the biggest waves of exhilarated relief I’ve ever experienced. No joke.
Bunny Bun is safely tucked under Meera’s arm as she sleeps soundly in her bed, all safe and sound, home sweet home, with Bunny Bun. How sweet it is.
Ah, yes, we have lived this scenario here as well — but with “Cow.” Cow does not have a first name – he’s just Cow (Don’t you love how literal children are?) He’s a well travelled stuffy, having come with us to Africa, Mexico, Europe and various parts of the US and Canada. When my son had an overnight surgical procedure, Cow came along of course, and got his own hospital id bracelet. Every time Cow ventures outside the house, I feel a slight panic, fearing that he may inadvertently get lost.
Your story reminded me of a scene in the movie, “Best in Show” (Canadian movie – hilarious comedy about show dogs. One of the dogs has a bumble bee lovey, which goes missing. The owner’s hysterical search for Bee (and eventually for a replacement Bee) is pure cinema gold. Check it out if you can!
This second comment has nothing to do with attachment objects, although somehow seems rather fitting in the overall scheme of work-life balance (and the crazy contrast between our professional lives and our family adventures). Although we don’t know each other, I thought of you when reading this excellent article in the Atlantic (see url link below). It’s not the stereotypical career-vs-family Mommy Wars type essay, but rather a truly poignant perspective on the challenges highly educated, career woman face in “having it all” and how our society could/should change to make it a less daunting reality for women.
http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2012/07/why-women-still-cant-have-it-all/309020/
It may or may not speak to you as it did to me, but thought I would forward it on, as I have enjoyed your posts about this very topic in the past. Cheers!
Oh yes, that Atlantic article SPOKE to me!! I read it when it first came out, and then re-read it several times over the summer, sent it to every career-working-mom I know, and have referred to it often in conversations. Love it.
Thanks for reminding me of it—- I meant to do a post on it ( and some other things I read over the summer on the same subject)… This reminds me I should try to so that still.
Thanks for reading,
Heather
So happy Merra got BunBun back, I bet she was very happy to wake up an Find him! Can’t imagine Meera without BunBun.
wow, just like the dad in Knuffle Bunny! lol
I’m sure this didn’t feel like such at the time, but what a funny and sweet experience. I’m sure when you all (especially Meera) look back on this blog post years from now, you will all smile and re-experience the love.
Aww… this totally made me tear up. Our daughter Savvy has “Froggy”, who has been her companion since she first came home to us. I can totally relate to the panic feeling you get when you think he/it is in peril. When we brought our son Miles home we wised up and bought three identical Bunnys… and so far he doesn’t seem to mind that he has a crew instead of a single friend.
Awwwwww!
Ours was Papa Smurf….every night my older daughter had to sleep with Papa Smurf. Wow, what we go through to help our kids. I read this and was holding my breath like you did.
My niece Sara’s lovey was a blanket my mother had sewn before she passed away. If my sister-in-law insisted it was time for a wash, Sara would sit next to the washing machine and sob until it was done. So they finally figured out to cut the blanket in half so each half could be washed and then one half usually stayed in her bed. Well, as time went on, it became more worn and frayed, and my sister-in-law trimmed and trimmed and as the years passed, the pieces were smaller and smaller and smaller. My niece had a square about the size of the palm of your hand inside her backpack when she went off to kindergarten–just big enough so Sara could know it was there. I think my mother would have been so tickled!
That is so sweet! I just read your comment aloud to Braydon and we both think this is so, so very sweet.
My lovey was named a bear named Ted. I should admit that, though he has long stopped being my attachment lovey, Ted is at this moment sitting at the table ready for tea in my toddler daughter’s bedroom. When I was Meera’s age, I left Ted behind in Florida. We were almost home to Atlanta when I discovered to my horror Ted was missing. As my parents tell the story, I cried hysterically until my dad found a phone to call the hotel and made sure Ted was okay. He was sent home via overnight mail to me the next day. I’ll soon be forty, but I still remember the relief and joy of opening the box and finding my beloved bear inside with a new red ribbon around his neck courtesy of the hotel staff.
Have you seen this? I cried!!
http://blog.sfgate.com/sfmoms/2012/09/18/tearjerker-alert-three-years-later-boy-reunites-with-lost-lovey-video/
We had not seen that! Braydon and I watched it last night after the kids went to bed. We both sobbed watching it!!! Thanks for the link (and for the good cry!)!
~Heather