Blankie

I was going to launch into a big diatribe about how Luca needs to carry his blanket everywhere.  But then I realized I’ve been carrying around a laminated four leaf clover (thanks Dave) for twenty years now.  So when it comes to security items, my glass house is particularly fragile.

That said, Luca’s blanket is getting pretty rotten.  Its ends are saturated with whatever is on the floor of the Target bathroom, and caked with little league baseball grime.

And we can’t wash it, because there is a chance it will get lost in the washing machine.  Yes, it’s the same chance that I’ll get hit by lightening while riding a rhino on top of a surfboard.  But a chance is a chance.

I’m a little concerned that the abuse Blankie is taking of late will ultimately destroy it.  When I see him dragging it across the Jewel parking lot, I fear it will burst into flames.

So I’m trying to gently encourage him to leave it at home.  This is met with screams of, “No!” 

I also try to get him to leave it in the car when we visit places with germy or muddy grounds.  This is also met with screams of no or outright ignoring.

But the secret reason I’m doing this is I usually end up having to hold Blankie when Luca needs both hands to eat a popsicle or swing on monkey bars or fend off the increasing number of toddler girls who are in love with him at the baseball field.

As I hold the rotten thing out at arm’s length, I imagine an army of germs walking single file up my arm and into my mouth.

At which point I rub my four-leaf clover vigorously.