The "Sick Bunny"

I was four and I lay sick in my parent's bed.  I imagine my mom put me there because it was closer to the kitchen, where she could hear me if I called.  At some point that afternoon, my dad came home from work and came to see me.  He leaned over and kissed my forehead and placed a stuffed animal- a pink rabbit with clashing red bow-tie and white ribbon suspenders- next to my head.

I'd like to take a moment to comment on the obvious cat hair in this picture.  Our beloved Oliver has been in his new home for four months now.  I have washed the duvet cover not once, but twice.  I have put it through the dryer.  I have shaken it outside.  I have run over it with a lint brush.  And it still looks like we have a cat living with us.  What am I doing wrong?!  

Okay, back to the rabbit.  It never became favourite toy, but I still have it.  I love the memory of that day.  The rabbit was special because it was a gift from my dad.  Not a birthday or Christmas gift, but an unexpected "I love you" gift, one that came on an otherwise dismal day of fever and puking.

When Joshua got sick about a year ago, I gave him the "Sick Bunny" and told him the story that went with it.  Then I told him again.  And again.  And again.  Hey, he loves my stories.  What can I say?

Over the last year, the furry pink rabbit has become a tradition between Joshua and me (we'd include John, but he's seriously never sick, and it's really too bad because he's missing out on the fun), and we each get to snuggle with it.

The rabbit has been in serious business this week.

I love little traditions.  Especially the ones that just kind of happen.

I don't love cat fur.  Especially when it won't go away.