Once upon a time . . .
Peanut has a blanket. Well, it used to be a blanket. With three and a half years of being dragged all over the house, washed countless times, and hauled all over the greater northeast, it now more accurately resembles a scrap of nasty gray cleaning rag. But she loves it nonetheless.
She loves it almost as much as she loves me and Mark, and quite possibly more than she loves her sister (sorry, Loaf).
She calls it her “baby” and wraps it in receiving blankets, dresses it in old newborn sleepers and feeds it with small plastic baby bottles. She pushes it around in her doll stroller and I have on more than one occasion found it strapped into our old high chair (which for some reason, I just can’t bring myself to get rid of yet).
It has, in her mind, body parts such as feet and hands and a face. She once asked me to put a pair of shoes on it and threw one hell of a nice fit when I apparently tried to put one of the tiny baby sneakers she’d found in Loaf’s closet on Blanket’s “head.”
Bad, stupid me.
Peanut loves it when we tell her “Blanket stories,” and Mark is especially good at this. His stories involve Peanut and Blanket (and sometimes Loaf if she is within earshot) having adventures and making mischief of one kind or another. Peanut will laugh with glee and sometimes interject her own thoughts into the story, which more often than not make almost no sense, but Mark manages to find a way to keep the story going anyway.
Last weekend on our way to brunch, Mark started telling a new Blanket story to the girls.
“One beautiful summer day Peanut and Blanket and Loaf took a walk down to the pond,” he began. “It was warm and pleasant and they stopped along the way to smell and pick some colorful flowers.”
“They picked the flowers and put them in their pockets,” said Peanut happily.
“That’s right,” said Mark before continuing. “When they got to the pond they came upon a small green frog.”
“And then Blanket picked it up and ate it!!” exclaimed Peanut. “The end. Everyone lived happily ever after.”
Except the frog.
Good grief.
She loves it almost as much as she loves me and Mark, and quite possibly more than she loves her sister (sorry, Loaf).
She calls it her “baby” and wraps it in receiving blankets, dresses it in old newborn sleepers and feeds it with small plastic baby bottles. She pushes it around in her doll stroller and I have on more than one occasion found it strapped into our old high chair (which for some reason, I just can’t bring myself to get rid of yet).
It has, in her mind, body parts such as feet and hands and a face. She once asked me to put a pair of shoes on it and threw one hell of a nice fit when I apparently tried to put one of the tiny baby sneakers she’d found in Loaf’s closet on Blanket’s “head.”
Bad, stupid me.
Peanut loves it when we tell her “Blanket stories,” and Mark is especially good at this. His stories involve Peanut and Blanket (and sometimes Loaf if she is within earshot) having adventures and making mischief of one kind or another. Peanut will laugh with glee and sometimes interject her own thoughts into the story, which more often than not make almost no sense, but Mark manages to find a way to keep the story going anyway.
Last weekend on our way to brunch, Mark started telling a new Blanket story to the girls.
“One beautiful summer day Peanut and Blanket and Loaf took a walk down to the pond,” he began. “It was warm and pleasant and they stopped along the way to smell and pick some colorful flowers.”
“They picked the flowers and put them in their pockets,” said Peanut happily.
“That’s right,” said Mark before continuing. “When they got to the pond they came upon a small green frog.”
“And then Blanket picked it up and ate it!!” exclaimed Peanut. “The end. Everyone lived happily ever after.”
Except the frog.
Good grief.
posted by Kimberly at
2:55 PM
2 Comments:
Sophisticated palate on that blanket! too funny.
C has "Blee". Blee is not allowed in public anymore! :-)
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