"I got you a present," boyfriend said, pulling out a bulky bag.
I tear it open and it's a dark red smushy knit blanket.
"This is the softest blanket ever!" I told him, wrapping myself up in it. Seriously, this thing is so soft that it was knitted by grandma angels using baby kitten belly fur and sunshine.
I was instantly obsessed with this blanket.
Which reminded me of another time I was completely obsessed with a blanket.
When I was four....
And that obsession lasted until the blanket mysteriously vanished into thin air when I was packing for college.
I'm not pointing any fingers, and I acknowledge that the blanket was on the verge of disintigrating from years of use, but somebody threw it out and I'm still not over it.
It started when I was three, or four and my mom had taken me to a fabric store...
"Pick out the fabric and I'm going to make you a blanket," she said. The bolts of cloth rose up tall and immediately I set out to look for a fabric with My Little Ponies or Ghostbusters on it. I loved Slimer.
I was growing disappointed with the selection of velvets, ochre-old-lady colors and the ugly patterns that didn't have cartoons on them when I found the PERFECT fabric.
"Mom! Mom!" I said, grabbing the fabric bolt and not daring to take my hand off it.
I couldn't see her over the tall rows of fabrics and if I went to go get her I'd never ever find this perfect pattern again so I just kept yelling Mom.
"I'm over here Mom," I wailed, "Come find me mom. I found a pattern with Smurfs on it."
She found me and I was so excited that I started telling her all the names of the Smurfs that were on the pink striped fabric. "Mom, that's Papa Smurf, and this is Smurfette and there's Brainy Smurf and he has glasses, see?"
She bought the fabric and I watched her with fascination as she sewed it into a blanket.
That blanket went everywhere with me.
I brought it outside to play.
I wrapped my dog in it when she looked like she had a cold.
I put it in my big wheel basket and took off in search of picnic spots.
I used it to make forts, I spilled chocolate milk on it and sometimes I'd put all my toys inside and tote them over to the neighbors house to play.
It would accumulate smells. Outside smells, tree smells, dandelion smells, smells baked in by the sun, dog and dust smells that I'd savor later because they'd remind me of the tree we climbed, the flowers I'd picked, or the puppy we'd pretended was a baby.
I'd huddle under it with my baby sister and we'd open up Green Eggs and Ham. She couldn't read, but she had the first half memorized and as soon as I'd open the page up, she'd start on cue, reciting a little bit, then stopping and saying "Turn the page," and then continuing.
"I need to wash that blanket!" was the most terrifying phrase ever and as soon as my mom said it, I'd panic, sneaking away in a stealthy attempt to hide the blanket to save it from being washed.
"But Mom I don't know where it is." I'd tell her somberly.
But my hiding places were never that good.
So she'd find it, groan with disgust and toss it in the washing machine.
I'd plant myself in front of the washing machine and sit there for what felt like all day. I'd roll Play Doh to keep myself busy. Sometimes my dog would wait with me and I'd talk to her until she got bored and left me to go find some good smells outside.
As soon as the washing machine stopped making noises I'd scream, "Mom! My blanket's done! Can you come get it?" and she'd take it out and we'd inspect the damp blanket to make sure that the washing machine didn't hurt it.
I was always expecting the washing machine to chomp up my beloved blanket and I was always surprised when it came out unharmed.
Then it'd go in the dryer and I'd have to wait apprehensively all over again. When the buzzer would go off, I'd pull open the dryer and throw the hot blanket over my head, breathing in the steamy laundry smell and taking it with me outside to play.
This new blanket that my boyfriend got me revived all those little kid Smurf blanket obsession memories.
I'm probably too old to be doing any blanket obsessing nowadays, but this morning I found myself unable to leave the blanket at home as I was packing up for vacation.
Before I knew what I was doing, there I was stuffing the new blanket into my purse so that I could use it on the plane and feel comfy.
I tear it open and it's a dark red smushy knit blanket.
"This is the softest blanket ever!" I told him, wrapping myself up in it. Seriously, this thing is so soft that it was knitted by grandma angels using baby kitten belly fur and sunshine.
I was instantly obsessed with this blanket.
 | |
| This wasn't the blanket. But it was like this. |
When I was four....
And that obsession lasted until the blanket mysteriously vanished into thin air when I was packing for college.
I'm not pointing any fingers, and I acknowledge that the blanket was on the verge of disintigrating from years of use, but somebody threw it out and I'm still not over it.
It started when I was three, or four and my mom had taken me to a fabric store...
"Pick out the fabric and I'm going to make you a blanket," she said. The bolts of cloth rose up tall and immediately I set out to look for a fabric with My Little Ponies or Ghostbusters on it. I loved Slimer.
I was growing disappointed with the selection of velvets, ochre-old-lady colors and the ugly patterns that didn't have cartoons on them when I found the PERFECT fabric.
"Mom! Mom!" I said, grabbing the fabric bolt and not daring to take my hand off it.
I couldn't see her over the tall rows of fabrics and if I went to go get her I'd never ever find this perfect pattern again so I just kept yelling Mom.
"I'm over here Mom," I wailed, "Come find me mom. I found a pattern with Smurfs on it."
She found me and I was so excited that I started telling her all the names of the Smurfs that were on the pink striped fabric. "Mom, that's Papa Smurf, and this is Smurfette and there's Brainy Smurf and he has glasses, see?"
She bought the fabric and I watched her with fascination as she sewed it into a blanket.
That blanket went everywhere with me.
I brought it outside to play.
I wrapped my dog in it when she looked like she had a cold.
I put it in my big wheel basket and took off in search of picnic spots.
I used it to make forts, I spilled chocolate milk on it and sometimes I'd put all my toys inside and tote them over to the neighbors house to play.
It would accumulate smells. Outside smells, tree smells, dandelion smells, smells baked in by the sun, dog and dust smells that I'd savor later because they'd remind me of the tree we climbed, the flowers I'd picked, or the puppy we'd pretended was a baby.
I'd huddle under it with my baby sister and we'd open up Green Eggs and Ham. She couldn't read, but she had the first half memorized and as soon as I'd open the page up, she'd start on cue, reciting a little bit, then stopping and saying "Turn the page," and then continuing.
"I need to wash that blanket!" was the most terrifying phrase ever and as soon as my mom said it, I'd panic, sneaking away in a stealthy attempt to hide the blanket to save it from being washed.
"But Mom I don't know where it is." I'd tell her somberly.
But my hiding places were never that good.
So she'd find it, groan with disgust and toss it in the washing machine.
I'd plant myself in front of the washing machine and sit there for what felt like all day. I'd roll Play Doh to keep myself busy. Sometimes my dog would wait with me and I'd talk to her until she got bored and left me to go find some good smells outside.
As soon as the washing machine stopped making noises I'd scream, "Mom! My blanket's done! Can you come get it?" and she'd take it out and we'd inspect the damp blanket to make sure that the washing machine didn't hurt it.
I was always expecting the washing machine to chomp up my beloved blanket and I was always surprised when it came out unharmed.
Then it'd go in the dryer and I'd have to wait apprehensively all over again. When the buzzer would go off, I'd pull open the dryer and throw the hot blanket over my head, breathing in the steamy laundry smell and taking it with me outside to play.
This new blanket that my boyfriend got me revived all those little kid Smurf blanket obsession memories.
I'm probably too old to be doing any blanket obsessing nowadays, but this morning I found myself unable to leave the blanket at home as I was packing up for vacation.
Before I knew what I was doing, there I was stuffing the new blanket into my purse so that I could use it on the plane and feel comfy.