What constitutes a tragedy?

So my darling 4-year-old has finally finished her first year of big school and to mark the occasion, an enormous Bring and Buy sale was held at the end of last week. A Bring and Buy, for those of you not in the know, is where you do your best to have a good old tidy up and sort out, finally clearing out the broken plastic tat that your child has never played with, only for it to be replaced the very same day with another child's tat that your little darling has excitedly spent your money on. That is, if they don't end up buying back what was originally theirs - I understand this is common.

Luckily, there was less plastic and more cuddly toys brought home this time. And Renée's cuddly toy of choice - a rather, ahem, delightful, formerly white, teddy bear with a pink and blue bobbled hat sewn on. It was immediately christened 'Bobble' and taken to bed where it spent its first night cuddled up in my daughter's arms. Since then, it has not left her side...even taking precedence over her already-established 'guys' (as she calls them) at the breakfast table. She is nothing, if not fickle. Indeed, never has a new 'guy' been welcomed into the fold with such open arms since Woof Woof and Woof Woof first made their appearance. To further concrete its status, Bobble even accompanied us on a camping trip at the weekend where it spent the night under a tent...narrowly missing out being weed on by Edie in the morning (but that's another story entirely).

However, on the journey home, a scuffle broke out in the back of the car...resulting in Bobble's 'bobble' being torn off by little sister Edie. Whoops. Despite my reassurance that the bobble could be sewn back on, Renée was distraught and spent almost an entire hour crying over the dismemberment of her beloved Bobble. Still, I kept the bobble, putting it in the side pocket of the car, promising to sew it on when we got home.

I forgot.

And then I was too busy.

And then I forgot again - despite being reminded every evening and every morning since the incident.

This morning Renée reminded me again.

And I could hold off no longer. She really had been very patient and understanding.

So I took a deep breath in, braced myself for a search of the sewing kit and a bit of effort and walked out to the car to retrieve the bobble from the side door.

OMG. OMG. OMG.

It wasn't there.

It really wasn't. I searched EVERYWHERE. Believe me - I searched under car seats, behind car seats, under dirty rubber mats - I DID NOT want to have to break this tragic news to my child. I honestly didn't think I had the strength to cope with the repercussions.

But alas, I had no choice.

I walked slowly back into the house.

I knelt down beside Renée, who was playing on the computer, took her hand and looked straight into her eyes.

"Renée, darling. The bobble has gone. It's not there anymore. I'm so sorry."

The realisation was immediately apparent on her face and her bottom lip started to tremble and before I could say anything more she was in my arms crying, big sobbing tears, whilst I held her against me, kissing the top of her head. We stayed like that for some time.

And I know it's not a tragedy, and I'm grateful for that. But to my poor innocent child, it is as much tragedy as she's known.