Otter, We Hardly Knew Ya

We just returned from a lovely 5-day jaunt to Seattle (don't you love spouse's conferences?) where JR and I tried to see all the sights. On our first outing, to Pike Place Market, of course, we found a book called "Larry Gets Lost in Seattle", which became our guide. So we managed to see a Seattle Mariners game (they lost to the Angels, but the score was 2-1, so the game was quite respectable). We took a ferry to Bainbridge Island. We visited the main library, the Pacific Science Center, Chinatown, Pioneer Square, the neighborhood around University of Washington (my husband's idea), the Space Needle, the Children's Museum (made me miss our Please Touch Museum at home) and, one of the surprising highlights - the locks and salmon ladder at Ballard (Chittenden Locks). Earlier that day, JR and I had made a deal - he could buy one toy, at the end of the day, "if he was good" (which of course, he was). So there we were, at the end of the day, in the visitors center at the locks, which has a (thankfully) very small gift shop. And that was where we met Otter.

An interesting point about JR's choices of stuffed animals -- the ones he truly bonds with are small. As adults, I think we have this tendency to believe that bigger is better - so friends and relatives have gifted JR with a host full of giant Elmos and life size monkeys and standard issue teddy bears. Yet the animals he has named and played with and slept next to tend to be very small. Like Otter. He was about 3" long, a plush brown sea otter with a little tan face. JR named him Otter and they becamse fast friends. He introduced Otter to all the interesting facts of life - what cars are, and Daddies, and dinner and TV and a bed.

Yesterday morning, departure day, the last I saw of Otter, he was being placed in Daddy's pocket on our way down to breakfast at the hotel (they served Japanese breakfast, which JR's dad loves). He was going into Dad's pocket because JR's pocket was too small. After breakfast we had some time in the room where I finished packing and took care of some email while JR watched PBS Kids and hung out under the covers. Dad was probably reading the newspaper.

Then the mad dash to get out of the room, print out the boarding passes, retrieve the car and get to the airport. I was in charge of boarding passes, so I was not the last out of the room. Dad was in charge of a multitude of bags too heavy for anyone else to deal with.

Halfway to the airport, a plaintive JR asks "Where's Otter?" A brief discussion ensued and the parents determined that Otter must not have made it out of the hotel room. The day went on.

Rental car was returned, bags were checked, snacks were purchased, lunch was eaten and we boarded the plane home. JR slept for most of the flight, a miracle in and of itself. I had time to read my novel. We arrived home, ate PB&J sandwiches and got ready for bed.

Which is the precise moment that the loss of Otter hit JR like a ton of bricks. Much wailing and gnashing of teeth. The call to the hotel (no, Otter was not found). More wailing. Thinking I had calmed him down, I went up to bed. The wailing began again. Dad tried. I tried. Finally, an exhausted, devastated JR fell asleep in our bed - and I went down and slept in his bed because if there is one thing we have learned about our 6 y.o. - he may still need his stuffed animals and he may still cry his little heart out with disappointment, but he is too big and too restless to allow anyone else to get any sleep should they happen to be in the same bed.

North, south, east, west - home is best. Sorry, Otter, that your sojourn with our family was so brief.

Sensitivity Training

Most days, JR comes off as a rough and tumble little boy. He goes everywhere these days with his baseball glove and ball, tossing the ball high into the air as he saunters down the street. He builds frightening monsters and fighting rockets out of Legos and K'Nects. He sings scatological songs.

But every so often, he does something to remind me that he truly is a sensitive little boy.

On Wednesdays, our library stays open into the evening. So after dinner, we took a walk over to replenish our supply of books. JR loaded up on nonfiction books about ships and fighter jets. I picked up a couple mysteries for me and suggested that we also get Roald Dahl's "James and the Giant Peach" to read together, as we have not read a chapter book together (since we abandoned Harry Potter early in Book 5, jointly deciding that the 16-year-old Harry's life was a bit too much for the 5-year JR). I'd never read it but have heard the book described as a wonderful classic kids book. I did read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory as a kid with my dad, and loved it.

Back at home, having finished our first water ices of the season, we snuggled on the couch and began to read Chapter 1 of "James and the Giant Peach." I read through the idyllic life on the beach of 4-year-old James, his parents' trip to London, their demise at the hands of the escaped giant rhinoceros and James' move to live with his less-than-loving aunts. JR burst into tears. "It's so sad," he sobbed. I told him that the book flap said that James was going to have wonderful adventures. He continued to sob. I skimmed silently through Chapters 2 and 3 and read to him the passage where James is given the living crystal seeds. "I can't stop thinking about him," he gulped between giant tears rolling down his little face.

He was still visibly saddened through bath time and when we settled him into bed, he instructed me "No more James and the Giant Peach." So we started in on one of JR's picks from the library - a new book about stealth fighter jets - and he settled into a comfortable sleep.