Bye, Bye, Blankie

Back in my early days of nursing the twins, I used cloth diapers to mop up leaks. Since I was breastfeeding virtually round the clock, I almost always had a diaper draped over my shoulder, or even one over each shoulder. The twins, especially Stephen, used to finger one of the diapers as they nursed. Eventually the cloth diapers became Stephen's comfort objects. When he started sleeping in a crib, he wanted to take one to bed with him. I suppose the cloth smelt of milk and of me, even after laundering, and was soothing to him. When he started talking, he called it his blankie.

The diapers were made of thick cotton, double-layered and durable. Still, after more than four years of repeated washing, the half-dozen diapers we used to possess had dwindled to one tattered remnant. Stephen had brought it with him this morning when we dropped off Daniel. As we pulled up in front of the house, he announced, "I'm going to throw my blankie out, Mama. It's all torn."

"Are you sure, honey?" I asked. He nodded.

"Well, if you really want to, OK," I said. I felt sad for a moment or two at yet another reminder that my babies are growing up. Then I forgot the matter.

Later this morning, Matthew and I were sitting at the kitchen table working on his reading lesson. I heard the rumble of the garbage truck coming down the street and the sound of the miniblinds being pushed aside as Stephen looked out the front window. A few minutes later, Stephen walked into the kitchen with a mournful expression on his face.

"What's the matter, Reno?"

"I saw my blankie going into the garbage truck," he said, sniffing sadly.

Poor Stephen. When he had gotten out of the car, he had apparently thrown his blankie into the garbage can that was sitting on the curb awaiting pickup. He had probably forgotten about it until he saw it being tossed from the can into the truck.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry," I said, hugging him. "Maybe there's another one downstairs in the laundry basket." I doubted it, but thought I'd hold out a faint hope. I hugged him, and soon he was better.

Conversation in the Car

"Daniel. Daniel! Mama, Daniel's not talking to me!" Stephen complains.

I glance in the rearview mirror at Daniel in the far backseat. His eyes are cast downward; he's obviously absorbed in something.

"I think he's reading, honey. Daniel, what are you doing?"

"I'm playing my Connect-4." It's a handheld game Tab picked up for him at a yardsale.

"Well, could you listen to Stephen for a minute?"

A long, exasperated sigh. "What, Stephen?"

"Daniel, you know the hide-out you made out of Duplos? Well, I wrecked it."

"What? Stephen, you...you...stuny*! I hate you Stephen!"

So much for trying to foster communication between my sons. I should have left him alone to play his game.

*I don't like the boys to use the word "stupid" when talking to each other, so Matthew invented the word stuny.