When I arrived at school to pick Punky up last Monday, she was across the room playing with her friends. I headed to her cubby to get her crap together and found a backpack in it that didn't belong to us. Just as I turned to tell a teacher about it, Punky came zipping across the room at top speed.
"Mommy! Mommy! I get to go first! I'm the first one that gets to take Sloppy Joe home! Look, Mommy! Look at his backpack!"
I stood there dumbfounded as her teachers tried to contain their laughter and fill me in on the joke. I obviously missed something.
Finally, Miss Jackie said, "His name is Jungle Joe, not Sloppy Joe, and he's all yours for the next week. He's in the backpack with all his things. Just remember to write in his journal before bringing him back next Monday!"
Punky was dying to open the backpack and show me Jungle Joe, but I made her wait until we got home. The backpack weighed a ton. I couldn't imagine what the hell was stuffed in there. I really hoped Jungle Joe was not a living, breathing animal of some sort.
As soon as we got in the door, Punky dumped the entire contents of Jungle Joe's backpack out on the couch. I was relieved to see that J.J. was just a little stuffed bear in a safari outfit, and boy did he have the stuff. A flashlight, cellphone, blanket, story books, toothbrush, and extra outfits were just some of the things crammed in the backpack, but most of the weight came from the journals stuffed in the bottom of the bag.
As it turns out, the pre-K class at the daycare has been taking J.J. home for years, and all of his visits and adventures have been documented by the parents. Some wrote daily diary-like entries; others wrote only once at the end of his visit. Some included photos of their kids with J.J.; others had the kids draw a picture of him. Some were neat and well-written; some were sloppy and rushed. But as I started reading back through years past, I was amazed at all the places the stuffed animal has been and the sheer number of kids that had the experience of taking him home.
While I lost myself in reading the adventures of Jungle Joe, Punky showed him the ropes. She gave him the grand tour of our tiny house. She showed him both bathrooms in case he needed to pee during his week-long stay. She showed him the pantry so he knew where to get a snack if he got hungry. She showed him nearly all of her toys, one by one, so he could find things to play with if he got bored.
For the next seven days, she toted him everywhere. He was within arms reach at all times. Whatever she did, he did, too. She brushed his teeth every morning and night. She snuggled him close at bedtime and made sure he had his special blanket to sleep. She talked to him, sang to him, and told him stories. They watched cartoons, colored pictures, and played musical instruments. He even accompanied us on a trip down state this weekend to visit family. And, when we sat down last night to write the story of their week together in his journal, she cried because she didn't want to take him back to school today.
"But I'll miss him so much, Mommy!" she muttered through her sobs. "I won't be able to play with him anymore! I'm so sad, I can't stop crying, Mommy!"
From reading his journals, I was able to offer her a bit of comfort. It seemed like every kid had two turns to take J.J. home each school year, so I assured her that he would visit us again soon but she needed to wait until it was her turn again. Once she finally stopped crying, I finished the journal entry and taped a picture of them in the book. After she fell asleep with Jungle Joe last night, I packed all his things in his backpack and set in next to her school bag.
When she first brought him home last week, I wasn't exactly sure what, if anything, she was supposed to learn from the experience, but now I can easily list about ten lessons that can be learned and/or reinforced through a week with Jungle Joe. What a clever idea. The little fuzz ball and his two-ton backpack are welcome here anytime. Punky's already looking forward to his next visit.
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