Blankie

 

If you’re the kind of HamannEggs super fan who remembers Blankie, you would clean up at the HamannEggs trivia night I just invented. “Given to him by his beloved Grandma, Sheila Jacklich, what has Luca slept with every night of his life? A) Cute Little Racoon? B) Blankie? C) Unwashed sheets?

 

Our little Linus simply can’t sleep without her. Yes, Blankie identifies as a “she/her.” There was a period of time that Luca wore Blankie as a wonderful head wrap. I tried it a few times to get a rise out of him, and it’s quite nice.

 

Oh, I forgot to describe what Blankie actually looks like. At one point, it was fluffy and brown white and featured lots of fun, cute animals. Which animals, you ask? I can’t remember. Over the last ten years of love, Blankie is now a threadbare square of whatever material one uses to begin a Blankie project. And riddled with germs.

 

As you can guess, Blankie is important. We’ve had a few close calls over the years. We’ve been forced to have Blankie shipped home from relatives. Housekeeping at a Mexico hotel had to spend an afternoon searching through hundreds of used sheets for it.

 

The other night, as I was set to engage in my nightly Dad Time (Sleeping on the couch with the TV blaring), Luca anxiously told me Blankie was missing. As with most things the boys can’t find, I told him to expand his search area beyond two feet. He came back a little later with tears in his eyes. Blankie was legit missing. 

 

I dragged my bones off the couch and joined in the hunt. Under the couch? Nope. In the couch cousins? No. Within arm’s length of the couch? No sir.

 

Where did you last see Blankie? Can you retrace Blankie’s steps? Did you and Blankie get into a fight? At one point, we calculated whether Jerry could fit Blankie in his stomach, a totally realistic unthinkable scenario.

 

I figured this may be time to end Luca’s longtime relationship with Blankie. As we get grow up, we eventually have to give up our childish things. Says the man who still has a Grover stuffed toy hidden in his bedside table. Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling you it’s time to let Blankie go.

 

Resigned to his fate, Luca asked if I would lie in bed with him. I leapt at the chance to be a Blankie replacement. Or have my kids need me for literally anything. We turned on a nighttime meditation app thingy and I immediately fell asleep. I can only assume Luca follow suit at some point. 

 

The next day, Blankie was located in a completely obvious place: in the dog treat bin. She was returned to her rightful place atop Luca’s head. 

Meat

 

 

I recently stopped eating meat. Why? First and foremost, I have terrible blood pressure. The self imposed stress from a career in advertising has taken its toll on my ticker. Who knew 20+ years of panic attacks were not good for you?

 

Plus, I get to inconvenience everyone! Oh, you’re making chicken? I guess I’ll just eat this piece of bark. What’s on menu? Pork? Oh…I don’t eat that. I’ll just subsist on my sense of self-satisfaction. 

 

The other night, Elijah offered to make us dinner. Which is…wow. He found some recipe on the internet that involved goopy cheese stuffed inside a burger. With a side of Propranolol and fries. He did me the favor of also buying some fake burger meat. Improbable burgers or Inconceivable burgers or something.

 

I went upstairs to go ride our stationary bike slash soft-core pornography device. When I came down, the kitchen was in peril. Eli struggled with the recipe and had created a massive pile of ground beef and cheese roughly the side of Jerry’s head. I tried to explain that his creation was not only not going to fit on a bun, it may never cook through and give everyone (except me) COVID.

 

I put him on grill lighting duty and got to work making his mound into actual burgers. I wasn’t grossed out by touching meat because I haven’t ascended to the pariah level of vegetarian yet. YET. In just a few minutes, I had constructed an actual meal and threw them onto the grill.

 

Oh crap! The Intolerable meat was still frozen. I screamed into the kitchen for someone, anyone to microwave my fake protein. 

 

After I cooked the family burgers to exactly medium rare (I’ve noticed people who don’t eat meat love to show how great they are at grilling) I ran inside to get my Implausible burgers.

 

Luca was standing over a bowl of goo. The protein, having been radiated by gigawatts of modern convenience, was a pile of David Cronenberg dreams. Luca stuffed his fists into the goo, which made a bodily noise. “I love this,” he said dreamily.

 

Then I got to engage in my favorite part of not eating meat: martyrdom. I made a little pile of nuts and seeds and pecked at it like a bird while the rest of the family moaned at how amazing Eli’s cheese stuffed burgers tasted. Seriously, dad. These are the burgers anyone ever made. Ever.

 

While Diana’s back was turned, I ate a bite of Luca’s burger. It was the greatest thing I’ve ever tasted.  

 

p.s. Jerry got his testicles removed this week.