The Battle Begins . . .

Today is laundry day. I call it that because I like to think I can get my laundry washed, folded and put away in a day. In reality, it should be called laundry week. Laundry, the "vicious circle," so called by Notting Hill character Spike, is not the battle I am referring to, though it certainly fits. Oh, no, the battle I mean is the one between myself and my daughter, Olivia, involving her "blankie." "Blankie" is not just her beloved blanket, it also doubles as cape, hiding place, napkin, teething ring, coat, comfort, and constant companion. It went to the dentist with us. It sits at the table with us. It goes to the park, store, doctor's, upstairs, downstairs, outside, inside, you get the idea. There is tomato sauce, salad dressing, dirt, saliva, and a number of mysterious spots all over. At lunch today she dropped a blig glob of chocolate shake on it. It gets caught under the stroller wheels and dragged down the sidewalk. Her dad teases her by pretending its his blanket, holding it and snuggling it, while she tugs on it and demandingly says "mine." When she's going to sleep she holds it and fingers it and bites it until her eyes close. Once upon a time it was a pretty pastel pink, and now its a dingy grayish pink. So we bought her a new one, a new exact same blanket from the exact same store, exact same company, exact same, but of course, NOT the exact same, as she clearly made us understand by completely rejecting it and demanding her "blankie."

She is Peanut's Linus, but far more adorable, even when she has a massive, major meltdown in front of the washer as she sees her blanket turning around inside. I admit, I have to be sneaky. I sort my clothes, put a load in, add detergent, turn it on, and am constantly on watch for when she is momentarily distracted and I can snatch it up and toss it in. This doesn't always work. More than once she has caught me in the middle and snatched it back. Or she pulls it out of the washer. The only assistance I have on my side is that the washer door locks when its running, so she pulls on the door and pounds on the window, crying "blankie" and she bursts into tears and falls to the floor and must be dramatically dragged away.

Whatever people may say about our weekly battle, it is her "blankie," and I admit to encouraging the relationship, and can be found searching the house with Olivia throughout the day, calling out "blankie."

Blanket on left (with chocalate stain) is "blankie," and one on right is "reject" and how "blankie" used to look once upon a time. As a pertinent side note, she was very upset when I borrowed "blankie" for this photo shoot.