Like Putty

Joel, at heart, is a big old softie.

How do I know this? Every time we go to Target, Joel likes to go to the games section, which happens to correspond with the toys section. Both Joel and Everett enjoy the detour, because Joel gets to oogle over whatever game it is he wants next and Everett gets to have a visit with the doggie. This is not just any doggie. It is a giant stuffed boxer with very soft fur, and as soon as Joel puts it up on the cart by Everett, he snuggles into it and surrounds his face with the doggie's neck and droopy ears (all while sighing contentedly). Thankfully, when it is time to leave, Everett is always fine with putting the doggie back and so we have never had any good-bye dramas.

I always joked about going to buy the doggie for Everett while Joel was at work, and Joel would always tell me not to do it. Pay good money for a giant stuffed dog? No thanks. This clashes with every bit of the frugal Joel I know.

Yesterday we went to Target again. So, again the doggie went into the cart with Everett. Again, we went around the store collecting diapers and other things we needed while the doggie tagged along. And again, at the end of our trip I turned to go back to the toy section so we could bid our usual farewells. But no one turned to come with me. Joel marched right up to the checkstand, giant canine and all, and proudly (and, maybe a bit sheepishly) pulled out the credit card.

Everett was ecstatic. He insisted on sleeping with the doggie that night, though he had to surrender at least 2/3 of his bed space. Everett has been playing with the doggie all day, and when we went to get Joel from the bus today, Everett had wrapped his short arms around the doggie's massive neck and was standing by the door, simply beaming and waiting to bring him along as soon as I got my shoes on. He was more than disappointed when he realized I wouldn't let the doggie tag along but was that much more excited upon coming home to see that the doggie was right where he left it--facing the front door, waiting for his child playmate to return. The whole exchange was nothing short of adorable.

I am happy to be able to report that now when I tell Joel he is "really just a big old softie" and he gives his usual "what are you talking about?" reply, I have solid evidence with which to back up my accusation. And I sure will use it.

Or maybe I'll just smile at my little boy who looks even littler next to his giant friendly pile of fur.