Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Woobies make everything better.
My darling little granddaughter, Juliet, has a woobie. Soft and satiny, it looks like a rabbit—ears and everything—that morphs into a miniature blanket. She can’t sleep without it. It’s her best friend. She lies down without a fight as long as Woobie is in her arms. Sweet comfort in pink velvet, her mom or dad pick her up, hand her the rabbit, and she clutches it to her chest with one hand, simultaneously puts her middle two fingers from the other hand in her mouth, and then cuddles into the curve of her parent’s shoulder. Snuggles and Woobie. Together they make everything right with her little world.
He usually waits for her in the crib. He hardly ever goes missing that way. Juliet’s mommy got a back-up in case of an emergency, but Jules wasn’t born yesterday. She knows her best friend from the “fake woobie”, and won’t be conned by an imposter. The only way her parents can sort of fool her, if necessity or desperation arise, is if her room is totally dark before they try to bring in the understudy. She’s got to be pretty tired, even for that. And chances are the stand in will still be tossed out.
Last fall, Juliet went on her first plane ride and, of course, Woobs did, too. By the end of the trip, the floppy eared guy with a rattle in his head became more important to Jules’ mommy than her ticket and ID. Now she and Juliet’s daddy joke that Woobs is the most valuable possession they own. But after sixteen months as the star in Juliet’s firmament, he’s getting a bit tattered from being dragged all over the place. So what will Juliet’s mommy do when, eventually, Woobs comes undone? “I’ll patch him up as best I can, I guess,” she told me. Of course. When it comes to woobies, there are no substitutes, no stunt doubles. He’s irreplaceable and priceless.
Now that our little angel is up and walking, bumps and bruises are more common. But as long as Woobs is around, there’ll be no broken hearts. After one recent misstep that left Miss Juliet fallen on her pride, her daddy picked her up in his strong arms, handed Woobie to his weeping daughter, and watched the tears dissipate. “Woobies make everything better,” he told me.
I smiled. "Yes, they do," I answered. Then I sighed. I wish I had a woobie.