Did you have one when you were little? A blankie, that is?
Mine was pink and it was made of that waffle material. It was so soft and I loved it, a lot. I did not give it up until I was (at least) six years old and certainly not until I was shamed into doing so. Even then I kept it hidden in my closet because I just could not say good-bye. I wonder what ever happened to it?
Addie C. has a blankie, too. And she has loved it to pieces. Literally.
It once was a beautiful shade of pale purple. Now, it is a disgusting shade of dark gray. And it is in rags. Don't worry, I'll tell you what happened to it.
When she was a newborn, Grama Jones made a soft fluffy pink blankie for Addie. And although Addie C. could not tell us if she loved it or not, I loved it so much that Grama Jones bought me a kit and I made her a soft, fluffy purple blankie.
As she grew a little older, and could make some decisions of her own, Addie always chose the purple blankie.
"Popo kiki," she would squeal and point. "Popo kiki!"
And so, the fluffy, purple blankie became known by all as "Purple Kiki." I'm beginning to think she will never leave.
Purple Kiki goes everywhere with us. To the park. To the grocery store. To visit Grama Jones. To drive the big kids to school. Camping with Nana. She even tried to bring it to the beach, but sometimes a mom must enforce some rules. And don't worry ... I'm not one of the completely ridiculous parents who lets their four-year-old drag their blankie through the store. Purple Kiki must stay in the van ... mostly because I would die a thousand deaths if anyone ever saw it! However, in some strange I way I also cherish her and it seems that Purple Kiki has become the sixth member of our family.
Addie C. Jones also likes to suck her thumb. I know ... but there is nothing I can do about it. The more I make of it, the more she wants to suck for comfort - 'cause she feels bad. So I don't even mention it. But, when Addie C. was little(r), I did notice that she likes to grip the blankie in her little hand while she sucks that thumb.
Each night I would lay Purple Kiki across her, the straight edge tucked under her little chin, and watch as she snuggled in. Until one night ...
"No, Mommy," Addie C. Jones explained. "I want a corn."
"Corn? What?" I am searching for answers. "I don't know what you mean, Addie." Let's face it, we're never sure what Addie C. means.
"No. I want the corn of my kiki. Like dis." She begins to turn her blankie until she finds the corner, and I am enlightened. But what you should know, is that there are only two corns which can be snuggled under her nose while she sucks to sleep. The other two are not worthy.
What makes them worthy? I have no idea but I suspect that it has to do with some (disgusting) smell. Because two of the corns are a slightly darker shade of grey than the others. But maybe I'm just being judgmental.
Ugh.
One day, last Fall I came home to find that Addie C. had taken a pair scissors from the craft room and cut slices into one side of Purple Kiki. Now, let me assure you that the way in which I handled this very delicate situation was completely wrong. I should have said, "Oh, well. I guess you don't need Purple Kiki any more. Let's put her in the garbage together." Good riddance.
But no, I think with my heart, remember? And often, the filter in my brain is switched to off, so instead, it goes a little something like this ...
"Oh, Addie. Poor Purple Kiki, you cut her," I say, feeling a loss for this blankie that has been so important to her. But also, attaching human-like sentiment to this inanimate object.
"Oh, Mommy," Addie wails, "can you fix her? Puulllleeeaase ... I love her. Sew her together. Ahhhhhhh..." (imagine many tears dripping down a little girl's face).
"I don't know if I can Addison," I answer, and here comes the really, really bad part. "Maybe Mommy can sew you a new one."
She stops crying, smiles, and screams, "Yeah!! New purple kiki! New purple kiki!" It is at this point that I realize I will never get rid of Purple Kiki. She will live with us forever.
Now, being the excellent parent that I am, I left this task as long as possible. After dealing with my own sense of loss, I kept thinking that she would just give up on it. If there was nothing to replace this "thing," perhaps she would just move on and no longer need a kiki. Or, maybe the nice, clean, soft pink one would become beloved. Plus, she is starting school soon, and she is always telling me that she is a big girl now. So, I kept figuring (which should be read "hoping") that Addie C. would wake up one day not caring about Purple Kiki anymore.
No such luck.
In fact, she cut Purple Kiki some more and essentially made a sleeping bag ... even more cozy than the original. But it is a disgrace and I'm pretty sure Purple Kiki might be health violation.
So, I made her a new one. It is fluffly and soft and it smells fabulous. Addie welcomed it with open arms. She carried Purple Kiki 2 around all day, the original being left in a heap somewhere.
So, on her first night with Purple Kiki 2, I crept into her bedroom to check on her with a little excitement, anxious to see the new kiki in use. There she was, in her bed, the angel that she is, wrapped up in ... in the original. What? Where did she come from?
Purple Kiki 2 has been left lying in a heap on the floor beside her bed.
The next morning I must investigate ...
"Addie, did you sleep with your new Purple Kiki?" I ask.
She looks a little uncomfortable. "No," she mumbles.
I ask her why not.
"It doesn't suck," Addie C. says.
"I know," I say. "It smells great, and it is pretty. No, it doesn't suck - that's for sure." I completely missed the point.
"No, it doesn't suck," she says, pulling at the corn as she sticks her thumb in her mouth.
Oh. It doesn't "suck." Hmmmm.... this is going to be a problem.
Over the last couple of weeks since Purple Kiki 2 entered the scene she has been elevated in status because Addie C. now allows her on the bed. In fact, for awhile, she was using it like a sheet. She needed some time to warm up, I guess. Maybe she felt like she was cheating on the original.
In the meantime, I'm thinking of attaching Purple Kiki 2 to the back of the lawnmower until it gets that real earthy, dirt smell that she seems to adore so much.
Mine was pink and it was made of that waffle material. It was so soft and I loved it, a lot. I did not give it up until I was (at least) six years old and certainly not until I was shamed into doing so. Even then I kept it hidden in my closet because I just could not say good-bye. I wonder what ever happened to it?
Addie C. has a blankie, too. And she has loved it to pieces. Literally.
It once was a beautiful shade of pale purple. Now, it is a disgusting shade of dark gray. And it is in rags. Don't worry, I'll tell you what happened to it.
When she was a newborn, Grama Jones made a soft fluffy pink blankie for Addie. And although Addie C. could not tell us if she loved it or not, I loved it so much that Grama Jones bought me a kit and I made her a soft, fluffy purple blankie.
As she grew a little older, and could make some decisions of her own, Addie always chose the purple blankie.
"Popo kiki," she would squeal and point. "Popo kiki!"
And so, the fluffy, purple blankie became known by all as "Purple Kiki." I'm beginning to think she will never leave.
Purple Kiki goes everywhere with us. To the park. To the grocery store. To visit Grama Jones. To drive the big kids to school. Camping with Nana. She even tried to bring it to the beach, but sometimes a mom must enforce some rules. And don't worry ... I'm not one of the completely ridiculous parents who lets their four-year-old drag their blankie through the store. Purple Kiki must stay in the van ... mostly because I would die a thousand deaths if anyone ever saw it! However, in some strange I way I also cherish her and it seems that Purple Kiki has become the sixth member of our family.
Addie C. Jones also likes to suck her thumb. I know ... but there is nothing I can do about it. The more I make of it, the more she wants to suck for comfort - 'cause she feels bad. So I don't even mention it. But, when Addie C. was little(r), I did notice that she likes to grip the blankie in her little hand while she sucks that thumb.
Each night I would lay Purple Kiki across her, the straight edge tucked under her little chin, and watch as she snuggled in. Until one night ...
"No, Mommy," Addie C. Jones explained. "I want a corn."
"Corn? What?" I am searching for answers. "I don't know what you mean, Addie." Let's face it, we're never sure what Addie C. means.
"No. I want the corn of my kiki. Like dis." She begins to turn her blankie until she finds the corner, and I am enlightened. But what you should know, is that there are only two corns which can be snuggled under her nose while she sucks to sleep. The other two are not worthy.
What makes them worthy? I have no idea but I suspect that it has to do with some (disgusting) smell. Because two of the corns are a slightly darker shade of grey than the others. But maybe I'm just being judgmental.
Ugh.
One day, last Fall I came home to find that Addie C. had taken a pair scissors from the craft room and cut slices into one side of Purple Kiki. Now, let me assure you that the way in which I handled this very delicate situation was completely wrong. I should have said, "Oh, well. I guess you don't need Purple Kiki any more. Let's put her in the garbage together." Good riddance.
But no, I think with my heart, remember? And often, the filter in my brain is switched to off, so instead, it goes a little something like this ...
"Oh, Addie. Poor Purple Kiki, you cut her," I say, feeling a loss for this blankie that has been so important to her. But also, attaching human-like sentiment to this inanimate object.
"Oh, Mommy," Addie wails, "can you fix her? Puulllleeeaase ... I love her. Sew her together. Ahhhhhhh..." (imagine many tears dripping down a little girl's face).
"I don't know if I can Addison," I answer, and here comes the really, really bad part. "Maybe Mommy can sew you a new one."
She stops crying, smiles, and screams, "Yeah!! New purple kiki! New purple kiki!" It is at this point that I realize I will never get rid of Purple Kiki. She will live with us forever.
Now, being the excellent parent that I am, I left this task as long as possible. After dealing with my own sense of loss, I kept thinking that she would just give up on it. If there was nothing to replace this "thing," perhaps she would just move on and no longer need a kiki. Or, maybe the nice, clean, soft pink one would become beloved. Plus, she is starting school soon, and she is always telling me that she is a big girl now. So, I kept figuring (which should be read "hoping") that Addie C. would wake up one day not caring about Purple Kiki anymore.
No such luck.
In fact, she cut Purple Kiki some more and essentially made a sleeping bag ... even more cozy than the original. But it is a disgrace and I'm pretty sure Purple Kiki might be health violation.
So, I made her a new one. It is fluffly and soft and it smells fabulous. Addie welcomed it with open arms. She carried Purple Kiki 2 around all day, the original being left in a heap somewhere.
So, on her first night with Purple Kiki 2, I crept into her bedroom to check on her with a little excitement, anxious to see the new kiki in use. There she was, in her bed, the angel that she is, wrapped up in ... in the original. What? Where did she come from?
Purple Kiki 2 has been left lying in a heap on the floor beside her bed.
The next morning I must investigate ...
"Addie, did you sleep with your new Purple Kiki?" I ask.
She looks a little uncomfortable. "No," she mumbles.
I ask her why not.
"It doesn't suck," Addie C. says.
"I know," I say. "It smells great, and it is pretty. No, it doesn't suck - that's for sure." I completely missed the point.
"No, it doesn't suck," she says, pulling at the corn as she sticks her thumb in her mouth.
Oh. It doesn't "suck." Hmmmm.... this is going to be a problem.
Over the last couple of weeks since Purple Kiki 2 entered the scene she has been elevated in status because Addie C. now allows her on the bed. In fact, for awhile, she was using it like a sheet. She needed some time to warm up, I guess. Maybe she felt like she was cheating on the original.
In the meantime, I'm thinking of attaching Purple Kiki 2 to the back of the lawnmower until it gets that real earthy, dirt smell that she seems to adore so much.
