The Invisible Teddy Bear

It was a mother's worst nightmare. I was running late to kindergarten with my five-year-old daughter and I had forgotten her most precious possession. We always had Teddy in the car—to kindergarten, from kindergarten, to karate, to the doctor's office, to church. Teddy was Noelle's version of a security blanket.

            What was I going to do? Noelle was strapped in her car seat in the back of the car, all prim and proper, ready to start the new day.

            I had about 60 seconds until she would realize Teddy was not there, and then the crying would begin. It would not be the petulant crying of a selfish toddler, but the quiet sobbing of a "big girl" missing a cherished friend.

            So, I did what any sane mom would do in similar circumstances.

            I reached back and handed Noelle a brand-spanking-new … invisible teddy bear. It was the most amazing teddy bear ever made. With fur soft as silk, big brown eyes, and just the right squeeziness for optimum cuddling.

            My hands gripped the steering wheel as I looked up at the rearview mirror for her reaction. Did she see the invisible teddy bear? "Please, God, please, let her see the bear."

            Noelle's eyebrows raised quizzically just briefly, thinking, I'm sure, Is Mom pulling a con job here? But any skepticism was washed away by the excitement of her brand-new bear. "Thanks, Mommy, I love it." She squeezed the invisible teddy bear and smiled.

I smiled, very proud of myself, oblivious to the new “reality” I had unleashed. I swore to myself I would never forget the real Teddy again, and promptly forgot all about invisible teddy.

The next afternoon as Noelle and I headed off to karate class, I spotted Teddy sitting on the seat next to her, not on her lap where he usually sat.

            "Why's Teddy on the seat?" I asked.

"Mommy, my invisible bear is on my lap." Silly mom, her facial expression read, can't you see? "Mommy, can the karate bears sit in the front seat next to you? Please, please!"

            "Karate bears? Uh, sure," I played along. "How many are there?"

            "Five, but they're little."

            "Okay, send them up here."

            I dutifully escorted all five invisible karate bears to their seat and strapped them in with the seatbelt before backing out of the garage. They looked so natty in their crisp, white gis, and black belts.

            When we got to the karate studio, I cringed at the thought of escorting diminutive, invisible karate bears into the studio, having them raise their furry paws awaiting the instructor’s permission to step on the mat. Fortunately, she suggested they stay in the car to practice their kicks. I breathed a sigh of relief.

            The next morning it was time to head out to church. Noelle took her seat in the back, Teddy sitting by her side, the invisible teddy bear on her lap.

            "Are the karate bears staying home today?" I asked, hopefully.

"No, Mommy, they are coming along, but so are the church bears."

            "Church bears? Oh, my, where are they going to sit?"

            "I'll squeeze them in back here with me. We're going to sing together on the way."

They really did have beautiful voices, I conceded as we pulled into the church parking lot.

            Thank God the church bears also opted to skip the sermon and stay in the car. That week's sermon was about how Jesus fed 5,000 people with just five loaves of bread and two fish.  For some reason, the topic really resonated with me.

            Within a week, we had all manner of invisible bears tucked in every nook and cranny of my little compact car; we even had to strap a few on the roof. I was being pushed up against the car door from the crush of stuffed creatures and, let's be honest, I was about one bear short of having to stick my head out the window to drive. Noelle was a little cramped in the backseat too, but through the crowd of imaginary bears I could see her face beaming with delight.

            That evening as Noelle and her entourage of imaginary bears tumbled out of the car, my husband Calvin was waiting for us. He had a surprise for Noelle, a worn and tattered stuffed tiger from his own childhood.

            "Sweetie, this used to be my favorite stuffed animal when I was your age. His name is Hobbes, and now he's yours."

            "And honey," my husband turned to me, winking. "I think we should go shopping for a minivan."