Summary

A parent recounts the distressing experience of searching for their child's missing beloved stuffed animal, Kiki, and the joy of its eventual discovery.

Abstract

The article narrates the emotional journey of a family when their daughter Emma's cherished stuffed orangutan, Kiki, goes missing. The author describes the frantic search that ensues, turning the house upside down, and the impact of Kiki's absence on Emma's daily activities. Despite the parent's reassurances and a humorous theory involving alien abduction, Kiki remains missing until Emma herself finds the stuffie hidden in plain sight in the bathroom. The story concludes with the parent's relief and gratitude, acknowledging the deep bond between Emma and Kiki, and the inexplicable nature of things that go missing and reappear.

Opinions

The author humorously suggests that the missing pacifier and glasses are a prelude to the more significant loss of a child's favorite toy.
The parent empathizes with the child's emotional attachment to Kiki, understanding its importance beyond that of a mere stuffed animal.
There is a sense of frustration and helplessness conveyed by the parent as they exhaust all search efforts without success.
The parent muses about fantastical explanations for Kiki's disappearance, such as alien abduction, to cope with the situation and maintain hope.
The discovery of Kiki in an obvious location after an extensive search highlights the often inexplicable nature of lost items reappearing.
The article ends with a heartf

When Your Kid’s Favorite Stuffie Gets Abducted by Aliens

A parents’ biggest nightmare

Have you ever wondered why things go missing? Like the car keys, you could have sworn were on the hall table, but turned up in the freezer next to the hamburger, or the reading glasses that mysteriously vanished and were found the next day in the very place you checked three times the night before.

As mature adults, we accept this anomaly of missing things, perhaps grumble a few choice expletives and get on with our day.

Once kids come along, the stakes skyrocket. Who of us parents has not held a screaming, red-faced infant in our arms at 2:00 am, while stripping the crib in search of the one remaining pacifier, and berating our mate for forgetting to pick up a spare. The point I’m trying to make is that things go missing.

When my daughter Emma was three years old, she was given a stuffed orangutan. The moment the two met, she clutched the furry beastie to her chest and announced, “Her name is Kiki.”

From that day on, the two were inseparable. Emma cuddled with Kiki each and every night as she drifted off to sleep. Kiki accompanied Emma on all family outings, holidays, and trips to the dentist. I was absolutely forbidden to wash Kiki in the washing machine. You get the picture. For five years, Kiki did not leave Emma’s side until one ordinary, spring evening, she disappeared.

“Surely she must be somewhere!” I did my best to assure Emma, whose chin was beginning to wobble in a way I knew preceded a full-on meltdown. “We’ll find her, honey, I promise.”

Over the next forty minutes, I took on the persona of a crazed maniac. I turned over cushions, dug through piles of dirty laundry, checked behind cupboard doors and the backs of drawers, but to no avail. Kiki was AWOL.

When that evening I patted into Emma’s room, I found her picking at the eyes of a stuffed bear she hadn’t even bothered to name. “Did you find Kiki?” she whimpered.

“No, but I’m sure she’ll be back tomorrow,” I said as though Kiki was a tomcat gone for a nightly romp. We said a prayer, asking her guardian angel to help us find the damn monkey and at ten o’clock, Emma finally fell asleep.

The following morning at breakfast, Emma heaved a sigh of a ninety-year-old and announced she did not want to go to school, or have a playdate, or, and this was a shocker, go to Disneyland without Kiki. I pulled her onto my lap and for the third time, assured her that Kiki would be found. (Although for the first time, I was not so sure.)

While Emma was at school, I turned the house inside out. I was a trained police dog in search of a stash. There was no place left unturned. What if it was aliens? The thought occurred to me. What if…what if they abducted Kiki because she was infused with Emma’s love and they needed it to keep their race alive? I admit, after two hours of searching, I was losing my sanity. But what if?

Further disappointment ensued when I showed up at Emma’s school that afternoon. “Did you find her?” she asked, her eyes searching my hands.

“I looked everywhere… ”

“We have to find her! “she shouted. “We just have to!”

Together, we retraced all the places I had checked earlier, while I jokingly shared my musings on alien abductions.

“Kiki’s not The Last Mimzy, Mom!” Emma said, hands on hips.

Hours passed until exhausted, I slumped to the floor and stared blankly at the wall.

“Mom! Moooom! Come here!” Emma called from the bathroom. “I found her! I. Found. Her.”

Emma was jumping up and down, pointing at the window ledge. “There! There! She’s over there!”

I pulled apart the sheer curtains covering the narrow bathroom window. Kiki, like the Queen of Sheba, sat on the window frame, unperturbed by the raw emotion careening off the walls.

“How come we didn’t see her?” Emma shouted. “How come you didn’t see her? We looked all over this bathroom. Why didn’t we see her?” Emma rocked back and forth with Kiki in her arms.

I sat on the edge of the tub and cried with relief. I silently thanked the guardian angels, the aliens, the Borrowers, or whatever mysterious force was responsible for returning Kiki to her rightful owner, who was not yet ready to give up a friendship such as the one she shared with her stuffie.