all the king's horse & all the king's men needed to put Gumby back together again

*A different post poppped up here briefly this morning - a small mixup, but THIS is the post intended for today. I'm a little groggy as I prepare to tailgate at ND this weekend and my sleep is suffering. Can't wait to share about last weekend's tailgate at Ed's school . . . 

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After the Sept 10th tailgate, I laid Gumby on the living room couch out of the way as one does. It didn't make sense to roll him back up into a ball, stuff him in a giant bag, and stick him in the storage room. Not when we planned to showcase him at our next Notre Dame tailgate in mid-October.

A few weeks later, Coach ran home during his lunch. I took an important phone call in the study leaving a gaggle of toddlers to entertain themselves for a few minutes in the family room. Coach popped his head into the study as he was heading back to work, mouthing something that wasn't quite SEE YOU LATER or HAVE A GOOD DAY. It was something I struggled to decipher. I wondered if he was telling me that one of the tots was scaling a wall or running with scissors or something. After a few attempts he shook his head and walked away.

That's when it dawned on me. He'd been saying:"POOR GUMBY".

No wonder I was confused, since these are words not usually spoken during a quick dash in and out on Coach's lunch hour. I wandered across the hall to the living room. That's when I saw it. 

You can see the blue pool raft sticking
out between what is left of his legs.

Gumby, who had been carelessly tossed to the floor by a kid who wanted to sprawl on the couch, lay surrounded by shredded, bite-sized bits of his own sponginess. His face was frozen in a look of surprise. Although, if I'm honest, he rocks the 'oh crap' look at all times. He'd barely survived a brutal attack by a certain canine, who wishes to remain nameless. 

At the time of publication, Finnegan has three paws out the proverbial door for this and other recent infractions. I can devote an entire post to Lad's dog and his behaviors. Perhaps another time. 

Sickened as I was, I never collected his dismembered bits, thinking that was a chore Lad should handle. I assured myself that if I could create a lifesize Gumby, then I could patch him back together. 

Lad was remorseful, but he wasn't inspired to watch his dog more closely, clean up the spongy mess, or relocate Gumby to another space. I was very busy, cooking food, babysitting, writitng, attending volleyball games, etc. I'd inspected my creation and noted that despite the scatterings of torn pieces, Gumby really only needed a new foot. 

A week before the tailgate at Ed's school, I was working out in the family room on a Saturday. Lad took Finn out before he left for work. When he came inside, I told him that I was doing a short workout and when I was done, I planned to take Finn on my run. Lad went upstairs to get dressed for work. He didn't tie Finn to the back door. When I'm not babysitting, Finn often roams around the first floor. I walked into the kitchen just in time to see Finn slide into the room as if he was being chased out of the living room by a German Shephard. 

Dangling from his mouth was the remaining part of Gumby's leg. NOOOO!!!

Hearing my cries of disgust, Lad came running. He was apologetic. "I'm sorry. I only left him for 2 mintues to get dressed." He promised to fix the amputated leg. The thing is sponge cannot be sewn to sponge and Lad is a creative guy, but not exactly current on costume creations. 

I ripped away at the new piece to try to
create a jagged edge that might sort
 of 'fit' the original. Don't try this at home.

Before I ran with Finn, a run when my frustrations drained from me, I dragged my green buddy up the stairs and tossed him on the floor in front of my dresser - not far from our broken washing machine. Also not far from the row of three pack-and- play portable cribs that are a fixture under our windows during the school year. Some people deocrate their bedrooms so that they are a sanctuary, a calming place. Our bedroom shows all the signs that we are hoarders who struggle to keep order and maintain balance. 

I regretted not having moved Gumby after the initial attack, but I really believed that Lad would watch his dog more closely. It hadn't occurred to me to store him upstairs - the only place Finn doesn't go. 

After my run, I exchanged texts with Lad. We would figure this out, which translates to:  you will go to the craft store to buy supplies and I will find a way. 

Days later, I stood on my deck during nap time. I stuffed a new foam piece,

 purhcased by Lad to my specifications, inside one of Coach's old undershirts. I glued the top of the t-shirt to the jagged hip piece. Then I stitched through the t-shirt and the foam piece with big, deep sutures, hoping it would hold. I doubt anyone will ever wear the costume again now that Gumby has been repurposed as a beacon at tailgates, so his studiness is not all that important. The green costume was unharmed, so I draped it over my guy's new limb and asked Coach to snap a photo of me with the new and improved Gumby. Then I texted it to Lad. 

A few days later I asked Ed if he had an opinoin about whether or not Gumby make an appearance at the tailgate at his school. Note:  Gumby's green coloring leant nicely to the Notre Dame theme, but I wasn't sure if he would be as relevant at a school where red is the main color. 

I love how Gumby looks as though he
 has this toy shopping
cart tucked under his arm.
New wardrobe,
compliments of Goodwill.

Ed:  Um, I don't know if I have an opinion. 

Me:  Well, will people be able to find us better if Gumby is on our car?

Ed:  Probably.

While it might be rude to reveal someone's size, I will share that Gumby requires a size 3x. I went back to Goodwill and purchased the prefect red and gray shirt. Then I painted the 'IU' logo on the front of the t-shirt, thus expanding his wardrobe. I stuffed him in my car and prepared to introduce him to a new college scene.