My Other Other Child is Also a Monkey

I wrote a blog entry about a week and a half ago about my “other” child, a sock monkey named E.E., who had become my daughter’s “lovey,” and whom I had to keep track of as carefully as I would another child to avoid breaking her heart if E.E. should ever go astray. Well, wouldn’t you know that a few days later, E.E. somehow managed to acquire a “lovey” of his own, a little pink sock monkey that my daughter dubbed “Pinkie.” (Well, she actually named her “Pink,” but my husband was really bothered by that name for some reason and convinced her to change it to “Pinkie.” Because that’s more creative. Or something. Hey, as long as husband, daughter, and monkey are all happy about it, so am I.)

So now I have another other child to keep track of at all times.

Now, instead of asking “Where’s E.E?” all the time, my daughter asks, “Where’s E.E. and Pinkie?” all the time. And now, instead of her doing things twice as slowly because one of her hands is busy holding E.E., she does things four or five times as slowly because she’s trying to juggle both E.E. and Pinkie at all times. She wants to be carried down the stairs every morning because she doesn’t have a free hand to hold the railing. It takes longer to buckle her into her car seat because she needs to carefully transfer both monkeys from hand to hand in order to slip her arms through the harness. Ditto for putting on a shirt or jacket. And eating, as you can see from the photo above, is a much more complicated – and time-consuming – and messy – business when done with two monkeys clutched firmly in her arms.

But there are also advantages to double monkeys. With both her hands occupied, the chances of her getting her hands on an unattended crayon or ballpoint pen or magic marker are significantly lessened. She has less ability to resist when I pick her up against her will for fear of dropping a monkey. She is more likely to keep herself entertained by making her monkeys dance together (their favorite is the cha-cha, which for some unknown reason is danced to the rhythm, “one, two, cha-cha, four, five, cha-cha;” I’m still not sure where the missing cha’s and the third beat went – sorry Bammy and Aunt Holly!), or have conversations, or hug and kiss each other. But best of all, double monkeys means that when one of the monkeys is banished to the washing machine (as is almost always necessary following any meal involving maple syrup, ketchup, jelly, or marinara, which includes about 80% of all meals served in our home), the other can stay with my daughter. While this is not completely an acceptable situation in my daughter’s eyes, it’s a great improvement over having no monkey at all until the washing machine cycle is complete (I don’t even bother with the dryer; damp monkey is better than no monkey, in her opinion).

So now every time we get in the car – or out of the car – I make sure I count 4 noses, 2 kids and 2 monkeys. When we leave the playground, I make sure I have 2 kids and 2 monkeys. I check at least once per aisle in the grocery store to be sure I still have 2 kids and 2 monkeys present and accounted for.

But to be perfectly honest, I really don’t mind that much. I’m just glad that my daughter has such pleasant and well-mannered friends.

My Other Child is a Monkey

My readers who know me personally know that I have two biological children as well as an adult stepdaughter. But I bet that none of you know that I also have one more child. His name is E.E., and he is a sock monkey.

My son never had a typical “lovey” like most kids have as babies. We had a collection of four dozen plain white washcloths that we referred to his “rags” that he used to cuddle with, chew on, and just generally comfort himself with. But having two dozen of them that were identical, there were always a bunch around in both cars and in every room of the house, any of them that got dirty or damaged could be thrown away and replaced, and if we lost one it was no big deal. So we didn’t really have to pay attention to or keep track of the rags. But my daughter has decided that her sock monkey, E.E., is her best friend and constant companion. And E.E. is in no way, shape, or form, replaceable.

One of the first things my daughter says when she gets up in the morning is, “Where’s E.E.?” despite the fact that he is lying in bed next to her. If she leaves a room and comes back, she asks, “Where’s E.E.?” as if he’d wandered off while she was gone. If she gets distracted by a toy and suddenly realizes he’s not next to her, she’ll exclaim, “Where’s E.E.?” in great alarm. When she’s overly tired, she’s even been known to sleepily inquire, “Where’s E.E.?” while she’s holding him IN HER HANDS. She shares her snacks with E.E., she tucks him carefully under the blanket with her at nap time, she pretends to change his diaper, she hugs and kisses him, she even holds conversations with him. We have weekly arguments over whether E.E. has to stay in the car during her gymnastics class or whether he will guard her sneakers in her cubby at the gym. If E.E. is not visible to her at all times, she panics.

And because of that, I have to supervise E.E. as if he were another child in the family. I need to be absolutely certain that I know E.E.’s whereabouts at all times. If we leave a particular area, like a playground or a restaurant, unless E.E. is holding someone’s hand, there is no hope he will follow us like most children would. He’s like an independent, self-focused child who pays no attention to the rest of the world. He neither notices nor cares that the family is leaving, and stubbornly and silently stands his ground. You would think that he would at least be easy to find since he stays wherever he is put, and yet his tendency to wander (with a bit of help from one pair of small hands or another) is notorious. I have to check on him every few moments so he doesn’t have a chance to get far without my knowledge. Since he doesn’t answer when I call him, it’s entirely up to me to figure out where he’s hiding.

So nose counts in my family these days include my son, my daughter, and my monkey. I feel just as responsible for his health and well-being as I do for my human children. And although he may not reward me with hugs and kisses, he also never talks back, never misbehaves, and is completely potty-trained. Which is more than I can say for my other children. So I think I’ll keep him. (But don’t worry, I’ll keep the rest of them, too. The hugs and kisses more than make up for everything else.)