When the kids and I were visiting my sister in Birmingham recently, Luke accidentally drug his beloved blankie through a pile of pine straw while we were hopping around town. And while I usually can just brush and fluff the debris off his blankie, this mess was dirty and deep and required a quick wash and dry the following morning. And for those two hours where my son’s hands were not directly touching his worn blue Little Giraffe wonder, he was a crazy mess, wandering aimlessly around Libba’s house and crying out in pain and suffering. He was in misery. But my sister and I thought it was HILARIOUS. Seriously... Loosing your mind because you can’t touch your blanket for a mere two hours in a three to four-week span is pretty ridiculous. Two year old problems! I could write a book.
Or make a movie! Because the other day, after I smelled his blanket across the room, I snuck it away from him before he ate breakfast and I threw it in the wash. And because I’m a crazy, tortuous mother, I took a video of the meltdown:
THE HORROR!
I mean. That’s FUNNY. All because I washed his blanket.
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