Lately I’ve been feeling pretty special. In the big movie of my life that I play in day after day, there are little flickers of pure heaven that keep me going. Like yesterday when I was standing at the kitchen sink dishing my time away only to feel the smallest little lips kiss my leg, followed by the sound of little feet scurrying away, then returning, another peck, and repeat. Dylan can be so damn sweet when he wants to be.
And then there’s Ducky, my prized possession, literally. When I was 4 years old I found the golden egg at an Easter egg hunt and won a large, yellow duck that I affectionately named “Ducky,” whom has since been my dearest friend. Ducky has survived moves, road trips, Europe, two years in a closet, dry cleaning, holes and stitches, and now Dylan. Ducky is over twenty years old and he’s seen [much] better days. He’s worn out, has grown pale, and I swear that he’s missing some stuffing in his lopsided head. I had no plans to introduce Dylan to Ducky, mostly because I wanted to protect him from the wild child that would surely find a way to damage him more than time has. But in a sea of stuffed animals, Dylan wanted Ducky. Just like me.
It started with pointing that quickly turned into whining, until one day I said, “FINE!” and I handed Ducky over. Dylan’s eyes lit up as he tried to wrap his arms around the big duck, hugged him, kissed him, and laid down on him. I was touched that my favorite friend was now being loved on by my favorite son. It was a full circle moment as the memories with Ducky swirled and whirled around in my mind. Days later, Dylan was still infatuated and hung up on Ducky. Dylan begged, “Ducky? Ducky?” he wouldn’t let it go.
So I put Ducky in the wash and threw him in the dryer, as Dylan looked on, shocked, with a, “What the hell are you doing to my best friend” face. He was MY best friend first, kiddo. And when the dryer buzzed, Dylan’s pal was back. Fresh, clean, and ready to partake in another magical childhood. Life is such a trip.