Santa delivers, and Christmas goes off magically, and everyone agrees it’s the best day ever. But as you start to gather suitcases for the flight to Indiana, your daughter learns that Bamboo the stuffed panda – the only thing she *really* wanted for Christmas, the only thing she repeated to anyone who asked – is too big to bring. And suddenly all her joy turns to abject despair.
So you use all the words you can muster, in all the different combinations you have learned from thirteen years of parenting, to soothe and reassure her. But nothing works. And you even take a picture for her to remember the panda while she’s away. But that just makes it worse.
And so, even as your brain has resolved that she’s just going to have to get over it, some other part of you is walking your legs up to the attic. Yes, you tell yourself, this is just one of life’s little disappointments that can’t be helped. And while you’re talking to yourself, your hands rifle through the misfit suitcases – the ones you never use because they’re broken or tattered or otherwise not fit for purpose. Yes, you say, she’ll probably have forgotten about all this in five minutes.
And now your hands are holding that impossibly large duffle bag – the one your friends gave to your son as a gift. The one you laughed about, because who could ever need a duffle bag THIS big? The one you jokingly stuffed two of your kids into at the same time and carried them around the house, and then later stored away for what you thought was forever.
And you walk back downstairs, holding Paul Bunyan’s duffle. And your brain watches with bewilderment as your arms hoist the stuffed panda into the duffle bag. And it fits perfectly. And your brain is like “what the Hell are you doing?!” And your daughter is hugging you with utter relief. And the light is back in her eyes.
And now you have another bag to check. And your brain gives up. And you are happy.