Her bedroom was empty and the U-Haul was full. If it wasn’t for my middle daughter being so excited to move into her very first apartment, I would’ve been a mess. But she was ready, and I couldn’t have been prouder.

“Well,” I said, glancing around the kitchen for an extra spatula I could send with her for the road, “do you have everything?”

Taylor smiled. “I think I’m good.”

She was good. And surprisingly, I was too.

Until three hours later when we slid open the back door of the U-Haul. Let’s just say, I had a major Toy Story moment. Memories of my daughter’s childhood stared me right in the face.

In the movie Toy Story, Andy’s favorite toy was a cowboy named Woody. For our middle daughter, her constant companion was a stuffed bear, Winnie the Pooh.

That bear meant the world to her.

He was there for every afternoon nap. Every night at bedtime. He traveled with us on family vacations. When she was sick with a fever or the stomach flu, he never left her side. I’m pretty sure he even snuck away with her to a few sleepovers, safely hiding inside her pillowcase just in case she needed him.  

He was a huge part of her childhood.

Toy Story has many themes, but as a mom, the one that hits home with me is the inevitable fact that children always grow up and leave home. Eventually when Andy left for college, Woody told his friends, “I can’t stop Andy from growing up, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Oh, Woody. I hear ya.’

After everything Taylor and that stuffed bear had been through, I couldn’t imagine him ending up on the curb or a storage tote in the basement. Apparently, Taylor couldn’t either.

A few weeks later I visited her at her apartment. After she had left for work, I straightened up a bit. I put a couple plates in the dishwasher. I made her bed. And I couldn’t resist … I made sure Winnie the Pooh took his rightful place in the center of her pillows. He was much thinner than I remember. Very faded. And quite wrinkled. But he still looked happy to be there.

That’s when I realized something. It doesn’t matter if my kids are two, twenty-two, or seventy-two. I’m going to cherish their sweet childhood memories … to infinity and beyond.