Warning: this post is purely for future nostalgic purposes. Also, the blanket is not even yellow.
Lately Scarlette has wanted me to make up stories to tell her at bedtime. This is how it goes: she curls up in my lap, points to a random object in her room and then asks “Can you tell me a story about my clock when I was a little baby?”
So far we’ve made up stories about her clock, her video monitor, her crib, her basket of hair bows, her picture frames, you get the idea.
The past few nights she has asked me to tell her a story about her yellow blanket. At first I tried changing the story up a little bit, like maybe the blanket was going to be a superhero cape! Or a magic carpet! Or a secret doorway to a magical albeit slightly Narnia-ish world! I was pretty impressed with my ability to come up with so many storylines for a blanket and inwardly congratulating myself on how lucky Scarlette is to have a writer as a mother when she said “NO! DATS NOT RIGHT! DATS NOT DA WAY!”
Apparently, she wants the exact same story every single time.
(At least it was a hit?)
So now bedtime goes like this:
“Once upon a time in a hospital far, far away there lived a little tiny baby named Scarlette. And her Mommy and Daddy loved her very much and so they wanted to make her a very special room. They went to the store and they looked at a lot of blankets. The looked at big blankets and small blankets and tiny little doll blankets. They looked at blankets that were red and blankets that were blue but none of those blankets looked just right for you. One day they found the blanket that Mommy liked best of all. It was cozy and bright and perfect to tuck you in tight. But there weren’t any of those blankets left in the store! Mommy looked all over for that special blanket but they were all gone. Then Janie went to the store with Mommy and said “Look! A Special Blanket!” And there, tucked on the bottom shelf, was the special blanket, the only one in the whole store and Janie bought it just for you. And while Mommy and Daddy waited for you to get big and strong, Mommy put your blanket next to her pillow and it made her feel happy. And that is how you got your special yellow blanket. The end.”
(Obviously someone wants to jump on offering me a book deal because I am amazing at children’s stories.)
(Also, I would like to publicly applaud my father for his outstanding ability to come up with a fresh new story about Bingo, the farmer’s dog who moonlighted as a super hero and wrestled alligators, every single night for the majority of my childhood.)
(Although it has come to my attention as an adult that he may have possibly poached a variety of storylines from Lassie.)
Then she asks for a song and I sing Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ral to her the same way that my mother did, and her mother before that and her mother before that and her mother before that.
As I tuck her in bed she pats her pillow and pushes her nose close to mine as we say our prayers, which involves her thanking the Good Lord for the fact that her bed is made out of wood and informing Him that she doesn’t want to eat any squash as I smooth back her hair and inwardly breath thanks for this bedtime and ask for so many more with her that one day time-passing and age will turn that special little pink blanket a faded yellow.
