Mrs Bear Won't You Please Come Home

When The Boy was a month or so old, I bought him a bear.  We were walking around Adams, me with £2.20 in my pocket, he asleep.  We passed a basket full of sale items, and on top was a pink, flat bear.  She was the shape of a star, flat, extremely pink, with the word "Bear" embrodered on her chest within an oval.  She caught my eye, and as I picked her up, The Boy stirred, gurgled, smiled, and reached for her.  It was natural for her to become the fourth member of Wiltshire Towers (along with our cat, Bod, The Boy and myself).  She was the first toy The Boy expressed any interest in.  She was a pound well spent, and a member of our little family.

As The Boy grew, Mrs Bear developed her own back story.  It was decided that, between myself and my friends, that Mrs Bear was a woman with a past.  She had a courful sexual history, was a madam bear at a brothel, and worked shifts at a cab firm controlling the desk once she'd retired from the industry.   She had a song that she sang to The Boy (who always knew that it was me singing it, as he would look at me like I was an idiot and fondly shake his head).  One day, when The Boy was two and a half and after he hadn't spoken a word for over a year, he started to hum the Mrs Bear song.  He sang it most of the way through.  It was the longest thing he "said" for the next 18 months.  Every silly, silly word was perfect.

Mrs Bear has been everywhere with us.  When The Boy was in PICU at St Marys, Mrs Bear slept with him every day and night.  When he was forced to go to the Contact Centre to see his biological father, she went with him to help get him through.  When he started pre school, she went with him and then snuck into my bag to come home again.  She met him every day afterwards.  She travelled with us on trips, and once got lost.  We joked that a blue plaque should be erected in her honour where she was found.  In short, she was his first friend that expected nothing back, took him for exactly who he was, and she never, ever received any of the violent behaviour the rest of us did.

As he grew older, Mrs Bear was not required so much.  She became less of a constant companion, and more of a comfort bear, a nightime cuddle to help him get to sleep.  He would put her over his face to help him drop off, and she comforted him during the longs hours he was awake.  If she was there, he would be safe, and she was there, always.

Yesterday, we had an appointment at the doctors.  We had had a chat, and The Boy told me that his inability to sleep, how agitated it was making him, was making him very sad, and we wanted to find a way to help him settle more easily.  It would mean a referral to the mental health service for behavioural support, and an attempt to get him a precription for melatonin.  He was also said that his ears had been buzzing, so they would need to be checked.  He asked for Mrs Bear to come with him, as he was nervous about having his ears checked (he has particularly acute sensory issues with his ears), and the agreement was that he would speak to the doctor about what was concerning him.  He held her as he spoke, as she gave him confidence and courage.  She was with us then, and he was cuddling her as we left the doctors.

Mrs Bear came with us, but she didn't come back.

Somewhere between Stanhope Surgery in Waltham Cross and our house, she has gone astray.  The Boy is devastated, as am I.  We searched yesterday for hours, have started to make posters (some shops have been kind enough to put handwritten ones up already), and have checked everywhere.  I went out and checked during the night, I have been back around the shops to see if I can find her, but to all intents and purposes, we know, deep in our hearts, that she is gone.

He is being furiously brave, he has told me that she has gone to play with her bear friends.  He said that maybe she is looking for her lost underwear, as per that song we sang so long ago.   He wants her and is terribly upset. 

So I would ask that, if anyone in the Waltham Cross area reads this blog, they look out for a careworn, flat bear, whose stuffing only rests in parts of her from constant cuddling, who was once pink but is now a dirty "put in the wash" colour, who was made by Adams and is no longer stocked (made by Little Bundle), if anyone can find her or help me *find* her, I would be more grateful than I could ever, ever express.

Oh, Mrs Bear - please come home.  We miss you.

*She looks like this one, but is flatter from cuddling, and is now a pink washed out colour.  Please help!

Reasons To Love Lidster : 1, 2, 3

Midget 2, the eponymous blond haired angelic smiled Lidster, is currently on a charm offensive.

An oxymoron I know, as she is charming to everyone else and nothing but offensive to her mother.

As the number of screaming tantrums she has lessens (last week, she only had 15 on Tuesday, something of a new record for Lid), and her vocabulary expands (though it should be noted that her ability to learn a word directly correlates to how many times and how loudly she can scream it angrily at me in public, preferably at the farm shop where the hippy mothers tut at me disapprovingly as she gorges herself on cheese and onion Walkers and has a widdle on the stone floor having refused the toilet several times), she is turning into quite the social experimenter.

We already know that Lid is on the spectrum, most likely at the Aspergers end, but what else do we know about the legend that is The Lidster?

• The Lidster does not "do" vegetables. For her, any meal must have had a pulse at some point or it just will not do and must be returned to the Chef, preferably by means of her lobbing it at high velocity and with great force at said Chef.
• Lid is a dancer at heart. A very, very bad dancer, but a dancer none the less. She can dance to anything. It is submitted that she is so far ahead of her time, modern choreography needs to expand and evolve to be able to "get" her fine moves.
• The girl has fashion know how. She likes extreme combinations - a recent example would be liquorice allsort wellington boots, a fairy dress, a police man's hat and a wizard's cape. You may scoff, but you'll be wearing this in a year or so's time, and looking nowhere near as cool as she did and does.
• She likes nothing better than to stuff every pocket with something to eat, then stand in the garden ripping said items open with her teeth, whilst growling at next door's dog.
• Extreme annoyance at any action made against her (such as bringing her unsuitable food, looking at her in a way she deems inappropriate etc), with her response being to put her hands on her hips, growl and furrow her brow, then she will stomp her foot, make a loud "harrummph" and then, for good measure, add a "mmeeeeeeee-oooo" on the end.
• She has an extremely cheeky grin, and has mastered Mummy's "get her own way" look. Lid works said look to much better effect than Mummy ever has.
• Lid is obsessed with blutac. She loves the texture, liking to roll it between her fingers as a comforting stim, and gets extremely excited when she sees it ("Look! Looooookkkkk! Blutac! Mummmmmmmy! Blutac!"). Himself recently brought her back a packet of white tac to "blow her mind". Lid's mind was duly blown, with her indicating said tac and intoning with wonder "Loooook! Blutac white! Lily magic!"
• Rather beautifully, Lid dislikes any form of injustice real or imagined, and has been known to shout at members of certain political parties who may or may not have been chased from Wiltshire Towers by Mummy whilst she wielded a trampette in their direction "you're poo!"

All in all, she is a dazzling madwoman, a future feminist (despite her love of pink that has developed since she started pre school), most definitely a future dom due to her desire to have her own way, lest she should stamp her feet and start mewing at you in a bizarre manner, she may possibly be the future emperor of the universe. I certainly wouldn't put it past her, the bonkers bossy wee mare.

Reasons to love Lidster : Part 1.