When Jude turned 4, I told him it was high time he stopped with the pacifier. I had probably let it go on too long, but we both just loved it so much. Jude loved it as an intimate and trusted friend, I loved it because it worked even more effectively than Benedril or tequila at knocking him out at night. It was called Nu-Nu, for which I blame my mother-in-law. Everybody else had a Pacie, or a Binky, Jude had a Nu-Nu. He was never one of those kids who went around with the thing in his mouth constantly, in fact, it seldom left our house. But when it was time to go to sleep, that thing was an absolute necessity.
As his 4th birthday approached, we talked about how he was now a "big boy" and that Nu-Nus were for "baby boys". And I told him that Nu-Nu would "mess up his teeth", which he found rather frightening. So we set the deadline of "4th Birthday", which he seemed to respect and face with a sad, but resigned attitude.
He then did something rather sweet (and very much in character). He decided that perhaps he should give his Nu-Nus to a poor baby who didn't have any Nu-Nus. After much talk about how exactly to find these "poor babies", Jude had a brainstorm. "Maybe Santa can take them to them! He knows where all the kids are!" Which I thought was rather brilliant.
So on the morning after his 4th birthday (I just couldn't do it to him on "the day"), we wrote a letter: "Dear Santa, I am a big 4-year-old boy now, and no longer need my Nu-Nus. Please take them to a poor child who has no Nu-Nu. Say "hi" to Mrs. Claus and the elves. See you at Christmas. Love, Jude" We then put the letter and all the Nu-Nus in a mailing envelope, addressed it to "Santa Claus, Santa's Workshop, North Pole" and drove to our closest Post Office.
The walk from the car to the Post Office was high drama. He walked slowly, head down, holding his little package of Nu-Nus, like a death row inmate walking to the electric chair. "Nu-Nuless Boy Walking". But he was deadset on becoming a "big boy" now, and understood the importance of moving on from what he considered "baby things".
After waiting in line, we walked up to the window at the Post Office, and Jude bravely but sadly reached up and placed the package on the counter. The postal worker woman looked at it for a second, then at Jude, then at me. I fixed her with "a look". "We're sending this to Santa Claus. You have a special rate for that, don't you?" I said.
The woman looked at me for one beat, then replied "Yes, we do." She proceeded to pull out a bunch of random stamps and stickers and things, cover the package with "air mail", "fragile" and "rush" in what seemed to be a very purposeful way, dropped the package in the bin with the other packages and said "Thank you." Don't you just love this woman!
The rest of the day Jude was in a great mood. We called Grandma and Grandpa and he told them of his brave and giving donation to the poor, and he seemed terribly proud of himself and sure he'd made a "big boy" decision.
But when bedtime came, things turned dark and tragic. He lay there for almost two hours, sad and tortured. Clasping his little stuffed dog Pups, tears silently flowing. "I just miss them SO MUCH, Mama." It was horrible. Heartbreaking. And I know that if I hadn't actually gotten rid of all of the damned Nu-Nus I would have broken and given him one. Jimmy and I took turns lying in bed with him, tickling his back. At one point, Jimmy came out and said it reminded him very much of one time in his ill-spent youth when he witnessed someone kicking heroin.
Finally, when it was my turn to sit with Mama's little Nu-Nu addict, he asked me "Mama? Where do you think they are now?" And I told him the first of what ended up being a long and daring odyssey - The Adventures of the Nu-Nus. I told him how the package started on a plane, then transfered to the Polar Express, which took it to the North Pole. It was then greeted by an elf, who opened the package, read the note and took it immediately to Santa in his office at the workshop. Santa, of course, knew exactly which poor child most desperately needed a Nu-Nu, rounded up the reindeer and told them they must make one quick, unseasonal sleigh ride. Off they went to spread the joy of Nu-Nu to the less fortunate.
This story was repeated many times over the next week or so. Sometimes the poor child lived in a hut somewhere in Africa. Sometimes in an apartment right here in Los Angeles. Usually there was a poor, frazzled, exhausted Mama who's sad little baby wouldn't stop crying and go to sleep, and the gift of a Nu-Nu saved her life and sanity. Jude found these stories funny and comforting, and served as his methadone treatment.
I sometimes think of what really happened to that little package of Nu-Nus. No doubt they ended up in the trash at the Post Office. But I like to think that there was an exhausted, stressed out... Inuit mommy, living in her igloo with her screaming infant, and suddenly a large, fat man in a red suit arrived and handed her a little used Nu-Nu. She looked up at him with gratitude and muttered "Qujannaiik!" (thank you in Inuktitut), stuck the Nu-Nu in her baby's mouth and instantly peace fell over her humble igloo. "No" Santa replied, "Thank Jude."
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