I Think I Am Funny

Luke goes to a Catholic school where they teaching about sharing, and compassion, and all sorts of other behavior that can get you in trouble later on in life. One of the ways they do this is with the class teddy bear. Yes, you read that right. They have a bear, obviously was born in the land of Big Lots, who is kind of their class mascot. They all love the bear, and want to read it stories, and sit next to it at snack time. It's like a cult. The highest honor is getting to take the bear home for the weekend, and last week, it was Luke's turn.

You must love me...

Now, I don't know about you, but I figured that a stuffed bear must travel pretty lightly. After all, he wasn't wearing pants when I picked him and Luke up, so I doubted he needed a change of clothes, and his fur looked wash and wear, so I figured he didn't need any toiletries. Oh, was I wrong. The damn bear came with a whole backpack. He had jammies, he had books, and he even had a toothbrush. Oh, and lest I forget, he had a journal. Apparently the bear likes to keep a record of his travels, you know, in case he has to sue someone later.

From the first second Luke got into my car he was all about the bear, and I was all about that his mother would be picking up both of them at 5:30. Luke said we needed to get something to eat. I asked if he was hungry. No, he replied, the bear was. I said I needed to get my car washed. Luke said we couldn't. I asked why. He said the bear was scared of car washes. Oh, but the bear would be very happy to go to a toy store and look around if that was cool with me. The bear also had to have his backpack, NOW, NOW, NOW! Never mind that I was driving, and about to run into a semi.

Don't get me wrong, I get it. Luke was talking through the bear. Unfortunately all of the things that Luke was expressing through the bear are the things that drive me absolutely bat shit, and which he normally keeps under control. The bear was his Mr. Hyde. His fuzzy, weird colored, 100% polyester Mr. Hyde.

By the time we got to my Mom's house to meet up with my Sister and do the kid hand off I had had just about all I could take from the bear. I had carried him -- and his backpack -- into the Spaghetti Factory and cut up a small plate of pasta for him. I had explained to him (Luke said I had to speak directly to him) that Sally used to chew on things, but she wouldn't chew on him. I had watched Luke brush his teeth at least three times, and given them a good brushing myself, even though I couldn't see them. And I had wrapped up the bear's paw in gauze and band aids when Luke insisted he was injured. I was done with the damn bear. Or I almost was. My Sister mentioned that it might be nice to include some pictures of the bear's weekend in his journal, so everyone could see what fun he had with Luke.

I still wonder why she didn't use these...



Don't worry, I've already started a therapy fund for Luke. It's the least I can do.