The Drowning of the Frog

I am a Terrible Mother.

I have just opened the washing machine to remove the childrens' sheets and chuck them in the dryer, and what Dreadful Thing awaited me at the bottom of the washer?

None other than Little Mouse's beloved Froggie. All limp and wet and sad.

He must have crawled to the bottom of her bed in the night and gotten tangled up in the sheets when I stripped the bed this morning. (In my defense, my daughter sleeps with so many stuffed toys, I am constantly amazed that there is any room for her in her bed. Also in my defense, Froggie is only about two-and-a-half inches long, so it's not like I chucked the four-foot-long dolphin or the largish teddy bear with the tartan ribbon into the washer.)

I do not believe Froggie was designed to go through the hot wash cycle in a Whirlpool.

With sinking heart I scooped him gently from the bottom of the washer, expecting to feel that his sandy beanbaggish insides had turned to mud, but even soaking wet he still feels like he's full of sand...so he must be stuffed with Plastic Sand and perhaps All Will Be Well.

I fear that my command of moronic-mother-to-beloved-stuffed-frog resuscitation may not be up to this particular Situation.

I have placed him tenderly upon a hand-knitted washcloth at my daughter's spot on the kitchen table, where he will hopefully dry off recover from his Dreadful Ordeal.

I shall be offering up a prayer of Remorse and Maternal Guilt to the gods, who are probably laughing and pointing while they drink their tea and nibble on shortbread as an accompaniment to observing my Unhappy Incident, but I shall pretend otherwise.

Update: Unfortunately, this was not the end of Froggie's harrowing day. In an effort to stave off mildew, I set him out in the sun to dry. The only sun I could find was on the deck railing out back. You know what's coming, don't you? The wind blew poor Froggie (and his knitted washcloth) down into the yard below, where Canis Feisticus promptly ran to investigate. I charged down the stairs to find her sniffing at him curiously. Fortuntately for Froggie (and me), she decided not to have a taste. I rescued the poor frog and set him back on the kitchen table, where he shall remain for the rest of the day. I do not think my poor, frazzled nerves can take any more amphibious misadventures...