|My Baby Blankie (sniff, sniff)|
Every now and then, I do laundry.
It so happens this event occurs on the weekends. Both my kids have a favorite blanket they snuggle with, and a favorite stuffed animal. The animals have been interchangeable over the years, but not their blankies! When the were born, each received a homemade blanket from a relative (my dad’s cousin) who was like an aunt to me; sadly she passed away this past summer. They have asked about the origins of their favorite blankets but I’m not quite sure how/if to explain death to them yet, but I have simply said that they received them from a woman who loved them very much but she is in heaven now.
Maybe it’s the intangible they crave–someone who they will never see again and do not remember, someone whose love is therefore unconditional and unchanging. But they have an attachment to their blankets that may well last for sometime. I think this is very sweet.
Except when nap time comes and Jack’s blanket (which reached the point of absolutely needing to be washed) is on the spin cycle in the washer. He declared he will not ever be able to nap or sleep without it. It so happens that I have my own favorite blanket from toddlerhood that my mom made when I was born. It’s adorable with babies and blue rattles and little flowers. With a tear of sentiment in my eye, I told Jack that I too had a special blanket when I was his age, and I was willing to let him borrow it for his nap.
“You were MY age?!” he asked incredulously.
“Do you want to use Mommy’s special blankie this one time?”
He nodded, still overwhelmed with the thought of me as a toddler.
So I brought it out, lovingly folded into a neat square, and handed it to him.
He looked at it with furrowed brow. “That is your special blankie? But it doesn’t even have trains on it or trucks or planes or anything. I don’t want it.”
Waaaaahhhhh!!!!! Well, poo-poo to you, Mister. It’s still my special blankie.