Here, Piggy Piggy
Last night, after Zoe had joyously sorted her Halloween haul, she looked around and asked, somewhat anxiously, "Where is Piggy?" "Piggy" is a small stuffed pink that oinks, recently acquired on a trip to Sturbridge Village. Zoe had insisted that Piggy accompany us on our trick-or-treat outing, and although she had planned to hold her, Jim and I quickly convinced her that Piggy was better off riding in the basket of the stroller along with Blankie and various other items.
You probably know where this is heading.
A quick search of the stroller basket, the treat bags, and the downstairs hallway confirmed what we suspected: Piggy was missing. It is likely that she flew out of the basket when some other item was pulled out during our travels. We reluctantly broke the news to Zoe, who dissolved into tears.
Now, I should point out that the disappearance of Piggy is not a tragedy of the same degree of, say, a missing Blankie. If Blankie was missing, I would have called everyone in the neighborhood, along with their friends, to scour the three streets that we had walked down that evening. A missing Blankie would be a serious, serious problem. But a missing Piggy, while sad, is not terrible. Zoe has buckets of Beanie Babies and other small animals, and while she has a few favorites, they tend to go in and out of favor. This particular Piggy is well-liked, in part because she was acquired while Zoe was on a trip with her cousins and grandparents; but Piggy was not yet a Special Companion. And Zoe has another stuffed pig, named Wilbur, whom she adores.
But still. Zoe is four years and ten days old. And she loves Piggy. In my attempt to ease her pain, I immediately offered the solution of every parent: "Oh, honey, we'll find you another one." To which the response was--of course!--"No, I don't want another one, I want Piggy!" She wanted me to go look, right then and there. We tried to explain that it was dark, that there were piles of leaves, there was no chance, etc. But she insisted. So, with a flashlight, I took a quick walk down our street, and--of course!--I could not see a thing.
Well. We managed to get Zoe to bed with a minimum of distress. She surrounded herself with about thirty other stuffed friends and she eventually went to sleep, as did her tired parents.
And here comes the part where the Mommy does what any good Mommy would do.
This morning, at 7 a.m., I jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes, and headed out the door to look for Piggy. (Those of you who know me well may have to read that line again, as the idea of me jumping out of bed at 7 a.m. for anything is quite surprising. But indeed, it is the truth. It did help that 7 a.m. was really 8 a.m., at least as far as my circadian rhythms were concerned.) I walked briskly down the three streets that we toured last night.
Please remember that all of our streets now look like this:
And also remember that Piggy is small and pink. The odds were not good. I found two unopened candy bars and a quarter, and I had twenty minutes of exercise. But no Piggy.
As of bedtime tonight, Zoe has not mentioned Piggy, and I will not bring up the subject first. But she will not forget, and soon she will ask about her. I would imagine that we will then have a brief mourning period for Piggy, who has hopefully been adopted by some other nice family. And Zoe will learn a small lesson about loss, and I will learn a small lesson about parenting. In social work, we call this parallel process. But mostly it's just how life works.
Katy at 10:00 PM