For the life of me, I cannot remembering the reasoning today that led me to put the girls down for a nap with the blankets my Aunt Marge made. The ones that now could not ever be repaired by her, should the need arise.
Self? THIS is why YOU DON’T GIVE 4 YEAR OLDS NICE THINGS.
File this under “Not her fault: FOUR. YEARS. OLD.” Remember to crosspost to “Your Own Stupid Fault”; “Stop Yelling: IT’S YOUR FAULT” and “Project #496: Learn to Crochet. IMMEDIATELY.”
Today we are all sick. It started on Sunday with Emma’s runny nose. As it slowly wore the rest of us down, a very particular set of blankets began to appear yesterday. Blankets they’d never used before. Not their loveys. Not their backups. No, at some point they opened a drawer in Emma’s dresser and specifically chose these. Aunt Margie made them last year before she passed away, and this may be the DayQuil talking, but I like to think this is some sort of transcendent sign that people need her love even when they’ve never met her.
The weather in Seattle so far has been nearly IDENTICAL to three years ago – in that it’s been wet, cold and gross for all but a handful of days. So much so, that it’d be easy to feel depressed that life here goes completely unchanged, but, wait, oh HEY, look at this. And then? LOOK AT THIS:
“So I sez to Mabel, Mabel, I sez…”
“…just go with it, baby.”