Meet Pan.

He was a gift to my son when his was one (thank you, Aunt Marge) and was very much loved.  After resurrecting Pan from a box of treasured baby toys, I’ve been cleaning and repairing him since 8 PM last night.  First I stitched a tear in his back.  Then I washed him in the bathroom sink.  And I washed him again.  And again.  And again.  And again.  I scrubbed various parts of him with an old toothbrush.

The water in the sink looked like root beer.

Today I soaked him in the washing machine and washed and washed and washed and rinsed and rinsed and rinsed, and was very glad the washing machine did all of the work.

He looks much better now, though I will be picking bits of his foam innards out of my clothes dryer until 2013.

I am stitching him again.  And again.  And again.  But he tolerates it well.

His eyeballs have been scratched from my son’s baby teeth.
The fur on his nose has been kissed off.
One of his ears is departing from his head.

I love him.  My 39-year old son will think I’m crazy when he gets this for Christmas, but now that he has a toddler he might understand why his mom kept Pan all these years.

Especially since I’m also sending a new Pan for his own little boy.