There’s my blanket – the binding finally fell off entirely. There’s Missy, a lanky bear given as a birthday gift when I was in kindergarten. There’s Lucy, who I hugged in my old church while one of the worst storms I’ve ever seen raged. There’s my spice puppy, given to me in third grade, who no longer smells like spices. There’s my Clifford, who I hugged and cried on when I was the only kid without a REAL animal at the preschool pet parade. (One of the other moms told my mom her dogs just had a puppy and offered her one. Peaches died this May.) There’s Betsey Sam (short for Beatrix Samantha), for whom there are no imitators. My first Corolle doll and my best. (Not that Billie Jean, who followed her, isn’t quite the lady.) Kel, who’s spirit changed homes often – she went from a Kelly, to a Skipper, to Teen Skipper. But she was always a little punk. There’s Todd, the “wrong one.” His arm fell off and my sister and I reattached it with a series of rubber bands so that it could still move. Haley Anna, Anna Haley, and Kara Kara – my guitars. Beautiful ladies all. That little piece of glue with a bit of string attached. I’m not sure what it’s from but I’ve always loved it. Shamu, my whale. Patches IV, my guinea pig. Patches I-III and V-VII did not die in my care. They were my picks of Paddy and Pebble’s litters, but we always had to sell them. My parents insisted two guinea pigs were enough. He wasn’t a replacement for a real guinea pig, but he stayed with me loyally.

There’s many more. Did I mention I still buy myself stuffed animals? I’m still such a kid.

Funny how these stuffed animals are so comforting, isn’t it?

My brother still has a 4 inch square of his baby blanket which he carried for many more years than he should have (needless to say he didn’t find Linus jokes amusing).