It's taken a family tragedy to bring me out of a 6 month blog-hide. So Jack, who is now an 18 month-old dynamo who wrestles, runs, and grunts instead of saying "yes," had this stuffed animal named Mr. Tiger. I will tell you Mr. Tiger's story.
Last December we took Jack to see Auntie Sarah in New York, and braved F.A.O. Schwarz at
Christmastime. It was magical, despite the press of humanity. Whilst walking along a corridor filled with impossibly cute and expensive stuffed animals, Jack fell in love with a baby tiger. He was only 8 months old at the time, so it was sweet to see him respond to something so ecstatically. However, after checking the price tag, we figured we could find it online for much cheaper than what the Manhattan F.A.O. Schwarz could get away with. So a couple weeks later on Christmas morning Jack got a a very similar stuffed baby tiger, 12 inches long, that we found for $13 on the internet. It was true love between Jack and Mr. Tiger from the start.
Mr. Tiger became the privileged stuffed animal very quickly--the only one Jack wanted to sleep with. Mr. Tiger was Jack's great friend in the manifold miserable moments (how's that for alliteration) spent wailing in his crib before naps and bedtime. Sometimes Jack would not be screaming, but be jabbering and chuckling. I'd peek in at him and find him wrestling around the crib with Tiger, his tail flying. One time I checked on him after he fell asleep and found Jack flat on his back, with Tiger resting his four paws on his chest, as if Jack had fallen asleep staring into Tiger's friendly face.
For 10 months Jack and Tiger have been the best of buddies--lone companions during the long watches of the night, and it has even given us comfort to know that Jack has a friend in there. For several months Jack wouldn't go outside without Tiger or his back-up, Mr. Doggy. I'd wait at the door while he scampered around the house, gathering up Blankie, Tiger, and Doggy, and with his great strength he'd haul them all out the door and into the wide world, where they would get muddy and wind-blown together.
Then yesterday morning, we lost him. I still don't understand how it happened. If I were a little more superstitious or if we lived in a place with slightly more romance I would blame elves or impish spirits. I carried Jack from our third story apartment down the stairs, out the building, down the sidewalk, to our car. I thought he had both Tiger and Blankie (praise all good things that we didn't lose Blankie because his attachment there is even stronger than Tiger) in hand, and I saw him drop Blankie right as we were getting into the car. I assumed he had dropped Tiger behind me, so I got Jack in and buckled, grabbed Blankie, then turned to grab Tiger, but he wasn't there. I stepped back to the sidewalk to see if we'd dropped him somewhere between the car and the building, but I could see nothing. I was puzzled, but I'm mostly braindead most of the time these days, and assumed Jack must have just left him in the apartment.
An hour and a half later, when we'd returned from our errands, Tiger was nowhere to be found in the house. I put Jack down for his nap and then turned the house upside down. I retraced my steps time and again out to the car, getting down on hands and knees in the parking lot, searching under cars. I looked in bushes. I prayed. I called the office and they contacted the cleaning crew. I accosted the maintenance guy who'd been working on the apartment below ours. I cried. I knocked on our neighbors' doors and asked them. I cried again. I prayed some more. Josh made a "Have You Seen Me?" poster with a picture of Tiger on it, and we posted it on the front door of our building.
Josh and I keep opening the front door, looking to see if somehow Tiger has magically appeared on our door step, or as if he were a real Tiger, come wandering home after hunting squirrels.
I have come to conclude that Tiger has either been stolen by a neighbor or carried off by a hawk. When the latter thought struck me I started wandering far afield, looking for places where Tiger may have been discarded or fallen from a tree branch. Oh the places your imagination can take you.
It feels like a family member has been lost to us. I am tortured by all the memories of Jack looking for Tiger before bedtime, and the joyous giggle and embrace that always followed discovering him. I would sometimes find Jack lying on the floor, looking out the window, just holding Tiger and Blankie. Every time he'd wake up screaming in the middle of the night and we'd go to comfort him, he'd be clutching Tiger to his chest.
Part of why this has been so disturbing for Josh and me is because we see daily evidence of how the line between real and imaginary is so flexible for infants and children. How can you possibly say: "it's just a stuffed animal, we'll buy you a new one, it's not like it's a real Tiger"? Because he is real, and very much alive for Jack. Just yesterday, on our morning walk to the lake, Jack and I were sitting and eating crackers next to the statue of our city's founder. The statue looks like a jolly fisherman (although he was a very wealthy real estate entrepreneur) and he sits on one side of a bench along the lake. When Jack first saw him, months ago, he treated him the way he treats dogs: half in love, half afraid. He half laughed, half whimpered; he wanted to draw near, but he was afraid to touch him. Now, he accepts him as a kindly friend. He likes to pat his knee, and smile up into his jovial metal face. Yesterday morning we sat next to him, with Jack in the crook of the statue's arm. I gave Jack a cracker, and he reached up and offered it to Mr. Statue. That is why losing Tiger has broken my heart.
How has Jack reacted to all this trauma, you might wonder? Well, I shall tell you: he has been heroic, even stoic about it. Last night when we put him to bed for the first time without his friend, we tried a few other stuffed animals. He pushed them away, but finally accepted my old bunny, the one with the two pink heart-shaped patches that my mom sewed on after he got singed by my nightlight back in 1985. But when Jack awoke in the wee hours last night, and after I had soothed him and put him back in bed, he pushed bunny away, into my hands. He was ready to face the rest of the night alone with Blankie.
Tonight, we tried again. He pushed Doggy, Duckie, and Bunny away with loyal disdain. He would go it with Tiger, or he would go it alone. He didn't even cry--just clutched Blankie and lay silent while we left the room, heads downcast.
We are ordering him another Tiger tonight from Amazon. When the New Tiger comes he will be sleek and silky, not matted and fuzzy like Mr. Tiger was after countless washings from his rough and tumble life with his best friend. He will smell like a new toy, not like a comforting mixture of Jack's sleep smell and laundry detergent. I wonder if Jack will see in him a counterfeit, or the ghost of his old friend, being dragged through the leaves and mud, getting applesauce in his fur, or being clutched in the trusting arms of a sleeping babe, all well in the night shared by two dreaming friends.
Last December we took Jack to see Auntie Sarah in New York, and braved F.A.O. Schwarz at
 |
| This is what love at first sight in FAO Schwarz looks like. |
This is what love at first sight on Christmas morning looks like.
For 10 months Jack and Tiger have been the best of buddies--lone companions during the long watches of the night, and it has even given us comfort to know that Jack has a friend in there. For several months Jack wouldn't go outside without Tiger or his back-up, Mr. Doggy. I'd wait at the door while he scampered around the house, gathering up Blankie, Tiger, and Doggy, and with his great strength he'd haul them all out the door and into the wide world, where they would get muddy and wind-blown together.
Jack on an adventure with his buddies.
Then yesterday morning, we lost him. I still don't understand how it happened. If I were a little more superstitious or if we lived in a place with slightly more romance I would blame elves or impish spirits. I carried Jack from our third story apartment down the stairs, out the building, down the sidewalk, to our car. I thought he had both Tiger and Blankie (praise all good things that we didn't lose Blankie because his attachment there is even stronger than Tiger) in hand, and I saw him drop Blankie right as we were getting into the car. I assumed he had dropped Tiger behind me, so I got Jack in and buckled, grabbed Blankie, then turned to grab Tiger, but he wasn't there. I stepped back to the sidewalk to see if we'd dropped him somewhere between the car and the building, but I could see nothing. I was puzzled, but I'm mostly braindead most of the time these days, and assumed Jack must have just left him in the apartment.
An hour and a half later, when we'd returned from our errands, Tiger was nowhere to be found in the house. I put Jack down for his nap and then turned the house upside down. I retraced my steps time and again out to the car, getting down on hands and knees in the parking lot, searching under cars. I looked in bushes. I prayed. I called the office and they contacted the cleaning crew. I accosted the maintenance guy who'd been working on the apartment below ours. I cried. I knocked on our neighbors' doors and asked them. I cried again. I prayed some more. Josh made a "Have You Seen Me?" poster with a picture of Tiger on it, and we posted it on the front door of our building.
Josh and I keep opening the front door, looking to see if somehow Tiger has magically appeared on our door step, or as if he were a real Tiger, come wandering home after hunting squirrels.
I have come to conclude that Tiger has either been stolen by a neighbor or carried off by a hawk. When the latter thought struck me I started wandering far afield, looking for places where Tiger may have been discarded or fallen from a tree branch. Oh the places your imagination can take you.
It feels like a family member has been lost to us. I am tortured by all the memories of Jack looking for Tiger before bedtime, and the joyous giggle and embrace that always followed discovering him. I would sometimes find Jack lying on the floor, looking out the window, just holding Tiger and Blankie. Every time he'd wake up screaming in the middle of the night and we'd go to comfort him, he'd be clutching Tiger to his chest.
Part of why this has been so disturbing for Josh and me is because we see daily evidence of how the line between real and imaginary is so flexible for infants and children. How can you possibly say: "it's just a stuffed animal, we'll buy you a new one, it's not like it's a real Tiger"? Because he is real, and very much alive for Jack. Just yesterday, on our morning walk to the lake, Jack and I were sitting and eating crackers next to the statue of our city's founder. The statue looks like a jolly fisherman (although he was a very wealthy real estate entrepreneur) and he sits on one side of a bench along the lake. When Jack first saw him, months ago, he treated him the way he treats dogs: half in love, half afraid. He half laughed, half whimpered; he wanted to draw near, but he was afraid to touch him. Now, he accepts him as a kindly friend. He likes to pat his knee, and smile up into his jovial metal face. Yesterday morning we sat next to him, with Jack in the crook of the statue's arm. I gave Jack a cracker, and he reached up and offered it to Mr. Statue. That is why losing Tiger has broken my heart.
How has Jack reacted to all this trauma, you might wonder? Well, I shall tell you: he has been heroic, even stoic about it. Last night when we put him to bed for the first time without his friend, we tried a few other stuffed animals. He pushed them away, but finally accepted my old bunny, the one with the two pink heart-shaped patches that my mom sewed on after he got singed by my nightlight back in 1985. But when Jack awoke in the wee hours last night, and after I had soothed him and put him back in bed, he pushed bunny away, into my hands. He was ready to face the rest of the night alone with Blankie.
Tonight, we tried again. He pushed Doggy, Duckie, and Bunny away with loyal disdain. He would go it with Tiger, or he would go it alone. He didn't even cry--just clutched Blankie and lay silent while we left the room, heads downcast.
We are ordering him another Tiger tonight from Amazon. When the New Tiger comes he will be sleek and silky, not matted and fuzzy like Mr. Tiger was after countless washings from his rough and tumble life with his best friend. He will smell like a new toy, not like a comforting mixture of Jack's sleep smell and laundry detergent. I wonder if Jack will see in him a counterfeit, or the ghost of his old friend, being dragged through the leaves and mud, getting applesauce in his fur, or being clutched in the trusting arms of a sleeping babe, all well in the night shared by two dreaming friends.
