Our eldest son slept at my parents' last night. Beyond splitting up the kids and making everyone's life simpler, it gave him a chance to be alone with his other set of grandparents.
Problem is, when it was time for bed tonight, he realized he had left his beloved blanket behind.
Now, the blanket is a shadow of its former self. Its original green jungle pattern with bright parrots on it has been faded to a ratty-looking monotone. It has been shredded and reswen so many times that it's a wonder any original fabric remains. But it's his. And it's been a constant in his life since we first brought him home. So off I went into the dark on my bike to fetch it for him.
He's nine years-old now. Some would say he's a little old to hold on to his blanket. I think we'd all be better off if we held onto something that brings us comfort, no matter how old we are.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment