Wingnutted Adventuresmui rus for XP64

You can’t imagine how rough it is being a blanket in a big kid’s world. Last week, the younger son was assigned a big project. Mom and dad learned about the project yesterday. Today, the house was in a big hubbub about posters vs shadow-boxes, and how big a proper shadow-box should be if you want to display a proper solar system.

Dad lamented that timing allowed tossing the perfect materials to make all the planets, not to mention the covers inside and out. So Dad went to buy a poster and markers. Markers are not my friend.

Here I sit in the corner hiding the black and purple while the yellow has leaked all over my stuffie. And worst of all, I’ve had three close calls with the scissors and glue.

What’s a blanket to do? I think it’s time to wake my teddy. He’ll call for reinforcements. A couple cruise tickets and we’re outta here, baby.

Last Sunday was the coldest, longest service yet. The Shade Tree that provides such protection from the hot summer sun does no good against the harsh winter winds, so my owner pulls me tight over her layers of clothing and outer garments. As warm as she may be, my threads are frozen.
What’s a blanket to do? I do my best to remember the warmer months and the joy of hearing larger congregations worshipping together in glorious songs, sincere prayers, and enthusiastic responses to good preaching. I remember the picnics on the ground with kids chasing one another, bursting with energy and excitement. And finally, I thinking of the ladies who laugh and chatter as they serve what they have prepared.
It’s supposed to freeze this week, and Sunday’s service will be icy cold again. Maybe I’ll be the inside wrap. Maybe not. Either way, I won’t be left at home.

One of the boys stayed home yesterday with a high fever, sneezing, coughing, aches and pains. What a day! This morning I’m still feeling it after a day being smothered with sweat and burning skin. Now I just want a good hot swirly with a nice dose of detergent. Follow that up by thirty minutes with a dryer sheet and fifteen more on fluff. I can hardly wait!

But first Mom is down with a massive migraine and she won’t go near the laundry room. Instead, she has my pillow friend all bunched up in the dark and she’s hiding under my other pillow friend. I’m relegated to glorified foot covering, except when she reaches down to pull me over her shoulders.

What will be next? I’ve been dribbled with chicken noodle soup, juice, coughed into, sneezed on, rubbed raw, and I’ve beginning to itch. How is that possible? Can a blanket itch? I guess I shouldn’t gripe so much. At least I’m loved—that is, when I’m not hidden under piles of blankets in need of a wash. Sometimes I even get a few hours of breeze time—those are on sunny days.

When I think about it, I was able to bring lots of comfort when it was most needed. I may be neglected at times, but never for long, and the care I get afterward is truly worth it all. Ah—she emerges from the darkness. Looks like I have a date with the swirly—see you after fluff time!

*Note: Backdated to original post*

This morning I was left in a lump as my owner rushed off to work. Laying sprawled across the couch like dirty laundry, I realized that I had become her confidante and yet, who was there for me?
Nobody. I can’t even talk to the pillow without feeling like I’m just talking to a big white lump. So there I lay waiting for her to come home when I decided to record my innermost thoughts and desires somewhere special, and found this corner of my seams, somewhat unraveled, but even after 19 years of solid use, have bold bright colors to boast. Puppy’s graphic lays spread across my center like he’s dog-tired and his stuffed friend hides in my lower corner. It’s a good life.

Still, today I remain rather bummed. After all, I hold no special place of honor despite long nightly responsibilities to provide warmth and comfort. Not that I mind providing such things—it’s why I was made after all—but a little gratitude would be nice at times.

“How cozy you feel, your warmth surrounds me, and my life is one mite better because of you.” No, I do not hear such things. Nor do I get to rest atop the bed like most spreads. Rather, I’m chunked aside in the rush to prepare to rush out the door. When will she realize that the most important blessings can be those little things, like me, her favorite cozy, always ready to keep her warm at night, comfy in the morning, and squished like a pillow as needed?

Yet as I lay scrunched in this untidy position I begin to see how lucky I am to be so important that I’m used daily. I’ll never be folded and put away in storage. I’ll never be locked in the trunk. And most important, I’ll never be moth eaten as long as my owner needs me.

There are worse things that a blanket could say. Guess it’s not so bad to be a close confidante after all.