Thursday, July 5, 2012

My Arm is a Frog Rest

When I was sixteen, a boy gave me a stuffed dog.  It is almost a perfect cylinder - presto, neck pillow for two decades now.  When I mentioned Snuffy's continued use and existence to that same boy at our 20-year HS reunion, he replied, "what do you want, child support?"  Charming.

Gedalya (my five-year-old son) told me that Snuffy doesn't like to be squashed, and he almost convinced my mother to buy me a neck-pillow instead.  His humanitarian efforts have started expanding  throughout our local animal kingdom.

This winter, it was cold, but when I pulled up the covers, Gedalya complained that the stuffed moose couldn't breathe.  When I didn't listen and carelessly covered him anyway, I heard a small voice, "Marvin, Mommy says you're not real so you don't get to breathe."

So I had the audacity recently to lean on Clifford, a frog-shaped "pillow-pet".  I was told in no uncertain terms, "Mommy!  My frog is not an arm-rest!  Your arm is a frog-rest!"

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