Peanut Butter

When I was a little girl, I went Christmas shopping with my mom and dad.  I don't remember what store it was, but I do recall that it was huge.  When we entered there was this over-flowing display of stuffed animals.  It was amazing.  Definitely a way to a little girls heart.  Certainly a way to mine.  Of course like moth to a flame I found myself at the display attracted by one very specific teddybear.  It was incredibly plush, so furry it came with its own brush.  A combination of deep brown and beige patched fur with liquid brownn button eyes and a red tongue that looked ready to lick a lollipop.  I was in teddybear love.  I am certain that my Da told me to put it down.  And I probably even did, the first time I picked it up.  But somehow over the course of the time we were at the store I managed to circle back and pick up the bear again and drag it around with me all over that store.

Eventually I was told to go put it away again.  Crushed, I did as I was told.  Then moments later on our way to the check out line, my mother pulled it off the display and put into the basket with a remark I could not help overhearing.  My cousin would love it.  My heart fell to my feet.  Well, I guess if the teddybear wasn't going to come home with me, at least he wasn't going to stay in the store.  He was destined to have a home.  That was better than an alternative fate.  It was better than not knowing what happened to him. 

Later the presents were wrapped and of course a teddybear shaped wedge lay under the tree with my cousin's name on the tag.  I gritted my teeth and moved on with it.  I loved that silly old bear, but if he couldn't be with me, well at least I could believe he would be happy. 

Of course by now you have probably figured out that my parents did the bait and switch.  They did get a teddybear for my cousin, but it wasn't My Teddybear.  Mine was under the tree on Christmas morning, all fluffy and combed with his brush attached and a bright ribbon.  I did not need a tag to know he was for me.  I am certain I received other gifts that Christmas.  Probably ones that were on my Santa list, but the only one I remember is that teddybear. 

You might wonder  why this blog is titled Peanut Butter?  Because that was the bear's name.  Why?  I don't know, I was 6 years old. That's why.  But Peanut Butter has been through all the stages of my life with me.  He has been through surgeries, births, trips to Europe, he has been the protector for those I love when I could not be there myself, he has been a rock in a small soft stuffed shell.

And now when I use the phrase that my peanut butter is stretched too thin, I mean the side of me that he represents.  The part that is warm and fuzzy and needs combing from a friend.  It is easy to get hard and brittle when you add to much work to your plate and not enough of everything else.  Somehow it always seems possible to get the extra work done too. 

But it always costs a little bit more Peanut Butter to do it.  The question is - is it worth it?

I know the answer that 6 year old girl would have given.  Do you?