Update on Buddy Bear

You might recall that a while back Buddy Bear had some mystery adventures at our house.

He returned in my kindergartner's backpack yesterday and since nobody thought to remove him from the box, let alone write in his journal or return the box to school this morning, I seized the opportunity to do a little detective work.

In reading through the entries–this notebook starts, unfortunately, after the mystery entry that had my son paralyzed with fear, so I can't update you on that–I found only one that competes in weirdness with our most recent entry: some girl was so allergic to Buddy Bear she went into anaphalactic shock. Share that with the class, Dear. 

But the Lybbert entry may take the cake:

"W and Buddy played in a fort with D and his brothers. Mom abandoned us. [I kid you not, it says this! Your Honor, I object. Although . . . maybe that was the day I dared use the bathroom during daylight hours. Unaccompanied. You never know.] Then Dad sat there looking ugly (perplexed by his inane predicament). There was no TV so Buddy may have had his first personally formulated thought. He looked scared at first, but then he seemed to kind of like it." 

I think it's my turn to write Buddy's entry.

But what? Like anyone really cares what we had for dinner or if we read a story or brushed teeth first. Or believes Buddy took an active role in any part of it.

How about, Buddy Bear is actually a stuffed animal. He lives in a plastic box. He doesn't hear, know or care what W did today.

Okay, fine, I'm not really that cynical.

"Buddy Bear had to stay in his box because we didn't want him to get lost while we cleared the ground in the orchard, or fall into the bonfire. We're sorry we forgot to send him back to school yesterday–We know how much everyone likes a turn with Buddy Bear."

How is that for a stellar example of self-restraint? 

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