Lamby surgery

Almost everyone has or had a favorite stuffed animal.  Each of my grown children has at least one that is near and dear to their hearts.  Both of my married children still have a stuffy sharing their marriage bed, although in my daughter's case it is not the stuffed dog of her birth, but a bear she acquired later in life -- again another story.

In all three cases, these toys were acquired at or near the time the child was born, and have traveled with them ever since, to sleepovers, to summer camp, to Israel, to college, to new apartments.  They are often the last thing packed and the first unpacked.  In the cases of the older two, the stuffed animals have weathered these travels well, but unfortunately, my youngest has a Fisher Price lamb that has not lasted as well.  Poor Lamby has had his ears and nose chewed, and his "fur" (actually flannel fabric) rubbed almost to nothing.  He has been stuffed, and re-stuffed, woven and rewoven, until it is hard to tell where the patches end and the original begins, and yet he still survives.

Once again, Lamby is "in the hospital."  This time he arrived in my care gently wrapped in a Burberry scarf.  Again, his fabric is worn and his stuffing is trying to escape.  Once again, I will painstakingly use a needle and thread to reweave the bare spots, this time with a perfect match in lace weight wool instead of the shiny, and not quite authentic Pearl Cotton I have used in the past.  I will re-stuff him and sew up his belly so no stitches show, and finish him in time for his "daddy" to take him back to New York and his apartment at college in Brooklyn.  I will turn him back to my son, sure in the knowledge that wherever he goes, Lamby goes, and if repairs are ever needed again, he will come back to my hands.

Perhaps some day Lamby will find himself a place of honor on a shelf, an honorable retirement, but until he does?  My needle and thread are always waiting.