Mr. Bear

Since this blog serves as a quasi baby book for all of my children (to be eventually printed and shared among the lot of them), I am sharing a very daily part of our morning tradition.

Meet "Mr. Bear"

He has his own voice, and every morning we knock on his cupboard door to listen for it.

Sometimes Mr. Bear is laying down, still slumbering. Other times, he's going pee or poop (a guaranteed round of raucous laughter always follows at that announcement. I'm sanguine. I'll do anything for a laugh, even from my children).

When he emerges, he has a kiss for each of the children.

It may seem a little strange, but everyone loves Mr. Bear.

He's part of the family.

Perhaps this fanciful, odd little excursion into the imaginary world of talking kitchen appliances stems from my childhood love of Sesame Street's Teeny Little Super Guy (pops right up before your eye! He's no bigger than your nose! "Snap your finger, Here I go!". Sorry. Couldn't help myself. And THAT was based on sheer memory...obviously he left an impact.).

We buy the plain jane version of Cheerios. Mr. Bear kindly sweetens the deal.

Recently, after the female proprietor of the home cleaned out her spice cabinet for the first time after a year of living in this house, she stumbled upon the original Mr. Bear (from the old house). He's a bit disfigured and lopsided after bearly surviving an escapade in the dishwasher, but we filled him with honey (at the children's request) and made a startling discovery, as it's been determined that he is really a she...Mrs. Bear!

And this morning, my son asked her if she's going to have a baby.

I told him God had not yet given Mr. and Mrs. Bear any children (this is sounding ever stranger as I write, but it is what we do). It may not be His plan for them. It may be.

Either way, though, they are useful and important vessels of sweetness that add to the lives of five little honey-loving hearts.

The End.