Baby Badger's ultimate favorite toy is a stuffed pink poodle. She carries it around everywhere; in the car, up and down the hall at home, and even to dinner. If she forgets and leaves it somewhere, woe be to the family member who picks it up. She's chased her older brothers, teeth bared, until, backs against a wall, they've handed it over resignedly. It's more than a little funny to see Little Brother Badger quickly fetch the poodle for her from the basement as she sits imperiously on the sofa in the living room. Once reclaimed, she'll clutch the poodle to her chest and say "MINE!". Daddy River Badger once made the mistake of trying to take the poodle away after putting her in her high chair. Hysterics ensued, and the poodle shared some yogurt.
The poodle made a rather dramatic entrance into our family. The whole Badger clan (DRB's side, anyway) was out "camping"at one of those fun family parks where you can enjoy cabins with hot water and beds, catch fish in a small pond, and drink beer next to a fire as late as you want. On the second day, when everyone else was on a hayride, Grammy Badger, Baby, and I went to the camp store. At the back there was a rack of stuffed animals, and the poodle was among them. This poodle was very pink. It had permed fur and ribbons on its ears. It was expensive. It was kind of cute, but nothing I would ever have picked out. Baby did, though. She practically leaped out of my arms grabbing for it. I attempted to say "no", I really did! I tried to surreptitiously exchange the poodle for something a little less pricey, but the shrieks of my quite spoiled daughter brought all sorts of convenient excuses to mind. It was a vacation. The Boy Badgers had gotten sleeping bags but she hadn't (still being in her crib). Look how much she seems to like it! Getting it will make her happy and get her to be quiet and keep all the other parents in the store from shaking their heads at me. Um, yeah, and it was vacation! So, the poodle was ours. It looked more than a little triumphant as Baby carried it out of the store.
Now it sits, mocking me with its little beady eyes. "You spoil your children," it smirks, "You do not have a backbone and will become one of those parents hovering uncomfortably behind their diva-princess daughter as she stars on reality TV." "Mind your own business, poodle, you'd never had it so good before I showed up," I reply. "You have kid snot all over your coat," it retorts.
The poodle is a loudly pink reminder that I have a tendency to indulge my kids, to the eternal dismay of Daddy River Badger. I tend to run out to Target and get them stuff they don't need. I tend to buy them chocolate milk at McDonald's right before lunch. I tend to be the one who goes a little over the top at the party store for birthdays. I'll always go for the concession stand pretzel at basketball games. The poodle knows all this and smiles knowingly; I think it believes DRB will eventually throw me out. But the poodle does have one weakness: it is not machine-washable. I'm going to run out and buy finger paints at Target.
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