My youngest is still mostly inseparable from his blanket, which he now calls “blanket” or sometimes “blankie.” It used to be “mimi.”
When the two get separated, which happens from time to time, it’s a problem. Sometimes a much bigger problem than it used to be.
When we go somewhere, he takes it. Sometimes he gets distracted and sets it down, rather than clinging onto it for dear life.
Last Saturday, I got a phone call from the local haircut place. He had left the blanket after getting his hair cut, and they had found it. I drove over to pick it up, making haste so as to get the blanket home in time for the next nap.
This past Sunday, we went out to eat at the closest deli. Kids eat free on Sunday nights, so that’s one reason we go, but another is because it’s one of the few places that has multiple things my wife and I like and something–anything–our oldest son likes. So we go there a lot. If we were bigger spenders, they’d probably assign us a table and a parking spot.
Sometimes our boys can get a little loud there, and this time they were in top form, so we left in a hurry.
Bedtime came, and there was no sign of the blanket. It wasn’t in any of the usual places. I checked the washer and dryer. No. I checked the laundry chute. No, it wasn’t stuck in it, and it wasn’t under it either.
So we retraced everywhere we’d been since nap time. The deli was the only suspect. We didn’t think we’d taken it there, but we made the phone call.
Yes, it was there.
So back I went. They recognized me right away, and handed me the familiar green blanket, folded up nicely. I thanked them, and said I’d see them next week.
That makes two rescue missions in eight days. Hopefully we don’t make a habit of it.