Magical Powers of the Mooshy

Three mismatched pillows sit at the head of my bed, hidden strategically behind a matching set of "show" pillows. The fact that my "working" pillow collection is an odd number gnaws at me on the (rare) occasion I make our bed, but not enough to warrant the addition of a new character on the scene. Each member of the motley trio has his/her place, and not a one is replaceable.

Like you, I named my pillows quite some time ago. There's "Big Daddy" - because he's king size and offers nightly cranial support for the Farmer. There's my "Fluffy" - because she's fluffy. And then there's "Mooshy" - because he's (yes, you get the idea) mooshy. I adopted Mooshy from the Farmer shortly after our honeymoon more than ten years ago. And while Fluffy had served me well as a single for as long as I can remember, the flatness yet very subtle down-y fluffiness of Mooshy couldn’t be matched. The Mooshy had quickly assumed the lead role in the lineup…

until Sunday night.

We had gone out of town for the weekend to visit with family. Car travel beyond one hour warrants a pillow for each of my children, despite the fact that neither of them is capable of sleeping in the car. So on the way home, I realize that mini-me's pillow is no where in sight.

"Did you get her pillow?" I asked the Farmer in a hushed voice.

"No. Did you get her pillow?"

"No."

Uh oh.

Moving right along, we changed the subject and I snuck in a quick call to my sister-in-law alerting her of the parental infraction. I was relieved to know that a return trip was in order just days later. Mini-me's pillow would soon be home. No big deal. No harm done.

(Fast forward to bedtime.)

I ease over to the guest room, swipe a pillow off the bed and swap out the pillowcase to carefully disguise the decoy. I then prop it up on mini-me’s bed while she’s brushing her teeth. No big deal. No harm done.

"Who is this?" she asks, pointing at the pillow on her bed.

"It's just a pillow," I said patting it a bit. "See, it feels great. Nice and fluffy."

The sniffs begin, followed by a steady stream of tears.

"I want my pillow. I can't sleep with this,” she chokes.

"Baby, it's no big deal. This is a great pillow." I pat the pillow again. "See, it's nice and fluffy."

"Bbbut… it’s… too… fluffy!"

How could I argue with that? I knew that feeling. So I did what every good and resourceful mother would do. My brain froze for a moment and then I offered up the Mooshy. And in the three minutes it took to race to my bed, scoop up my FAVORITE pillow, and carefully place the peace offering on her bed, the tears stopped and a smile began to form on her wet little face. The power of the Mooshy was like magic. And all was well in the bed of mini-me that night and the next night.

As for me? Not so much.

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