I'm so lonesome, I could cry.

Thursday was the first day of school for the kids. This is
Little Bear, #2 son's favorite companion. Not just at bedtime.
He carries Little Bear to sit in the living room and watch TV,
propped on a pillow beside him. He takes Little Bear with
us to Wal-mart, but I insist that he remains in the car (the
bear, not the boy, because I'm pretty sure there are laws
about that kind of stuff). Little Bear lays on his shoulder
while he plays GameBoy.

Little Bear is looking kind of haggard. He has been rolled on
and slobbered over for only 6 months. He came attached to
a box of Valentine candy that Hillbilly Husband gave me.
The box laid around for a while with just those one or two
pieces that nobody likes, but you don't want to throw away.
#2 son timidly asked, "Mom, if you don't mind, could I sleep
with your bear one night? I will take really good care of him."
So I cut him off the Valentine box with a steak knife (the bear,
not the boy, because I'm pretty sure there are laws about that
kind of stuff), and deposited him in the waiting arms of my
just-turned-7-year-old son. The next morning he brought the
bear back and said, "I could take care of him for a while if you
want me to." So I told him he could adopt my little bear, and
that's what he named him.

I have seen Little Bear riding on the armrest of the car. I
have seen him in a seat by himself. The most touching thing
was one morning after dropping the kids off at school, I
had to get something out of the back, and saw that #2 had
buckled Little Bear into his seat belt. Every morning when
he got out, he said, "I know you will take good care of
Little Bear while I am at school."

This summer they were inseparable. #2 walks through the
house with Little Bear on his shoulder. He can do almost
anything without putting down the bear, though he does
leave him out of the bathroom. "I wouldn't want him to fall
in the toooiiiiiiillllllllet," he says with his funny little drawl.

So Little Bear looked quite forlorn the first day of school,
what with his worn-out little face, sitting alone in the car.

I guess he's better than an imaginary friend.