Shelly

more love to give than places to put it

I am reluctant to share this story. It’s rather embarrassing but since it was a clear moment of shifting, here goes.

When my youngest was 3 he had this tiny stuffed turtle named Shelly. Shelly had those stuffed animal eyes that goo-goo-ga-ga you into submission. Other stuffies came and went but little Shelly lasted as the boy grew and the bedding shifted from pastels, to StarWars, to dark blue full-grown decor.

A couple of years ago Shelly went missing. There were mentions of her disappearance and some halfhearted looks on the rare occasion of making the bed, but mostly Shelly just disappeared.

A couple of weeks ago during our unseasonably warm winter, I was on a work call and pacing around outside. The call was going long but the sun felt great. I wandered into a flowerbed to see if anything was sprouting. When I kicked away some leaves I saw one big eyeball—Shelly’s eye. As I brushed away some of the frozen dirt I realized it was her entire head. A little more digging and there were her hands sticking up, frozen like Han Solo.

I told my already-gone-too-long work call I had a family emergency and hung up.

We started Operation Rescue Shelly. We excavated the frozen ground with chisels and hot water like archeologists with the most precious, fragile discovery. We worked until the small brick of dirt was freed.

I washed Shelly off in hot water with soap. I did it again with baking soda. Then again with soap. Then found a small brush. All of a sudden I realized I had been washing Shelly for 20 minutes and staring into those big lovestruck eyes like I did my children long ago. I was anthropomorphizing this stuffed turtle until I felt actual love.

I understand that these feelings were convoluted memories and nostalgia. But at that moment three things were clear:

One, I needed to stop washing and falling in love with a tiny, dirty, frozen, stuffed turtle. Two, I need to stop looking backward and start moving forward. Three, I have more love to give than places to put it right now. Too much love. This is both a little sad and a little hopeful.

I think (hope) this dirty turtle is my nostalgia line in the sand. My rock bottom. My catalyst. My aha moment.

My son is thrilled we found Shelly. I am sheepish about my newfound attachment to small stuffed animals and clear on the assignment that it’s time for me to move forward. And if I am still anthropomorphizing her, Shelly was probably just thrilled to be out of the cold ground and back in a bed, waiting for the fleeting moments the boy comes home.