When I was about 6 years old, my aunt made this beautiful orange gingham quilt for my parents' bed . . . which I quickly stole and adopted as my special blanket. Maybe it was my consolation for the fact that I didn't have a bed for about 6 years (don't feel too bad, another aunt bought me a comfy
futon to sleep on). Regardless, this blanket has remained one of my prized
possessions.
That is until (dun, dun, dun) . . .
Ashton discovered it in my closet.
War has now begun.
At first, you see, I thought it was sweet that he wanted to sleep with my special blanket. It was like lending him part of my childhood. But now things are different. I am sick . . . and throwing up . . . and as pathetic as it is, I WANT MY WOOBY BACK!
Last night while I was puking in the toilet, I spotted Ashton dragging the prized quilt to his room. Mid-vomit, I snapped to attention. "Ashton, what are you doing?"
"I need this blanket to sleep with."
"But Ashton, that's MY blanket."
"But, I need it to sleep with, and you don't need it until it's REALLY night time."
He had a point. So exhausted, I conceded. And once he was
blissfully asleep, I snatched it right off of him, put a newer and cleaner blanket over him and curled up in my bed to sleep with my old friend.
Pregnancy sure brings out the best in us.
One of the best things about Whipple Park is how neighbors always join in. A few days ago we were dying Easter eggs outside. Within minutes, the table was surrounded by girls ages 2 to 10, many of whom had never seen eggs colored before (we have a lot of foreign residents).
