December 2002 Issue - Essay # 3
A
Blanket Case
By N. J. Nicot
“Jordan,
the movie’s ready!” No
reply from the next room. On
a cold evening in February, my husband George and I waited for Jordan,
our five-year-old, to join us with our other son, Nicolas,
two-and-a-half, in the TV room to watch The Adventures of Elmo in
Grouchland. Although this
popular Jim Henson production is located in the family rental section at
the video store, it did not appeal to all of the members of our family.
Jordan chose to play his Harry Potter video game instead.
His fascination with the furry, red monster ended over two years
ago before his third birthday. After
Jordan adamantly refused to participate in our wintry night family
activity, we decided to give up and started it without him.
As the story unfolded, we were introduced to the villain of the
movie, Huxley, a greedy man who claimed ownership over everything he
touched. He stole Elmo’s
blanket and Jordan’s interest in Harry Potter at the same time.
The movie Jordan dismissed as “just for babies” only minutes
earlier, suddenly captivated his attention; he found he could relate to
Elmo’s devastating loss. In
January of 1998, George’s company transferred us to Brazil just before
Jordan’s first birthday. It
was in this tumultuous setting of packing and unpacking what seemed like
the entire house, that a pastel green, acrylic blanket with teddy bear
designs on it became his best friend.
He would hold it by the folded, corner end and tickle his upper
lip with it. He would be so
dazed in the process that he would even trip over it at times; he was a
complete “blanket case.” Jordan’s
bedtime ritual consisted of tooth brushing, hugging and clutching the
blanket as if his life depended on it; forget nightlights, plush animals
or anti-monster sprays. I
still laugh when I recall what I dubbed the “blanket checks.” Before
leaving a friend’s house, restaurant or the mall, we would make sure
we knew who had the blanket; losing it was unimaginable.
Seeing it in Jordan’s hands almost made us feel as if all was
well in the world. It seemed to be a silly ritual, but we could not even
begin to imagine what would happen if he lost it.
Gradually,
the blanket metamorphosed in color from a pastel green to a drab gray.
As Jordan’s love for his toy cars grew, his grip on the blanket
loosened. The odds that he
would forget it somewhere increased.
We were pleased that he wasn’t tripping over it anymore, yet we
were stressed out by the greater need for the “blanket checks.”
Friends who watched George and I occasionally make eye contact at
gatherings must have thought we were flirting. In reality, we were
visually communicating on the whereabouts of the blanket.
When
we returned to the United States in October of 1999, I was pregnant with
our second child, also a boy. We
were contemplating the possibility of moving to Amsterdam on another
relocation assignment. We
traveled there to meet with a human resources representative for a few
days. By this time, the
blanket was worthy of its own frequent flyer miles account.
One
evening we went on a scenic boat ride through the canals of the city.
As we approached the end of the tour, Jordan turned green and
vomited all over the blanket. That
night I washed it with baby shampoo in the hotel bathtub, feeling
annoyed over the whole episode. When
would this blanket obsession end? Jordan
was upset that he couldn’t sleep with the soggy blanket.
I promised him he would have it back by morning.
Silently, I prayed it would dry in time.
Not so silently, I used a hair dryer to help speed the process.
The
following morning, with the blanket fully dry and clean, we decided to
board a train for Brussels, Belgium.
Once there, all four of us, George, Jordan, his blanket, and I
went on a city tour. It was
the day before we were due back in Amsterdam.
I remember it as the rainiest, dreariest day of our trip.
The bus stopped at a lace shop renowned for its beautiful table
linens, curtains and christening outfits.
We squeezed into the small shop with approximately twenty of our
fellow tourists and began the haggling process; somehow, with the clock
ticking and everyone shoving, I managed to purchase the perfect
christening outfit for the new baby.
When the tour guide announced the allotted time at the shop was
up, we rushed back to our seats on the bus.
Maybe
it was the pregnancy hormones that are responsible for occasional
absentmindedness, or the excitement over my great finds, but only three
of us made it back to the bus. “Do
you have the blanket?” I asked George.
“I thought you had it,” he said.
The unthinkable finally happened.
George and I were too busy in the shop to commence the “blanket
check” procedure before leaving. It
was the epitome of a “blanket check” gone wrong.
We left the frazzled, faded blanket in the lace shop.
To this day, I still wonder who discovered it amidst all of the
beautiful items, and what his or her reaction must have been. The
prince of Belgium was getting married the next day, so traffic in the
busy, rainy city was unbearable. We
were stuck on the bus, arguing over who was to blame for the forgotten
blanket. Even the bus
driver, who was too preoccupied with meeting his daily schedule,
wasn’t immune to our desperate finger pointing.
The tour guide calmly informed us that we would not be able to
return to the lace shop that evening or the following day because of the
royal wedding. I
shed more tears that night than Jordan did.
At one desperate moment I even asked George if we could stay an
extra day in order to return to the shop on Monday morning.
That was obviously out of the question, not to mention
ridiculous. I pictured
George explaining to his boss that he would not be in on Tuesday because
of the missing blanket. I
called the telephone number on the receipt, and in the best French I
could muster from my college days, asked the woman on the other end if
she had seen it. When she
said she hadn’t, I was sure she was lying. I pictured her discarding
it along with the rest of the day’s garbage.
How could I expect anyone to see the beauty in the worn rag it
had become? Amazingly, Jordan was dealing with this new “blanketless” stage of his life in the most mature manner an almost three-year-old can handle. He understood what happened, and figured we would eventually just go back and get the blanket. The reality of the situation finally hit him on the plane ride home. Although he was sad, he tried to be strong for me. He certainly displayed more fortitude than I did. I was also struggling with feelings of guilt because just two days earlier, over the hotel bathtub, I secretly wished the blanket didn’t exist. A couple of days later, a friend gave me a strikingly
similar, light blue acrylic blanket that she received as one of many
baby shower gifts for her son. Jordan
pointed out that it was missing the teddy bear designs, and we could
save it for the new baby. I
put it in Jordan’s closet where he agreed it could stay until his
brother’s arrival. At the
time, we actually considered the unfortunate turn of events a blessing.
We were finally free of “blanket checks”!
We were wrong. One
night Jordan asked me if I thought his brother would mind if he borrowed
his blanket for a while. I
didn’t want to say no and foster any unborn sibling rivalry, although
I must admit it was tempting. The
thought of his renewed dependence on a blanket concerned me, but I gave
it to him under the condition that he would never leave the house with
it. After a while, it became
just as worn as the first one, even taking on its physical
characteristics by looking pastel green to me. We
decided not to accept the assignment in Amsterdam and began the
physically and emotionally exhausting process of looking for a new home.
A few months later we found one that was perfect for us.
The owner told me during a phone conversation that she had a
present for my new baby. It
was a gift that someone had given her daughter almost forty years
earlier. When I met with her
to sign some paperwork, she handed me a Lord & Taylor gift box.
I didn’t open it until I was in my car later on, and what I
found inside amazed me—a light blue, acrylic blanket with teddy bear
designs on it! This third
blanket was the perfect combination of its two predecessors,
representing all of the turmoil and subsequent closure in that very
strenuous period of our lives. I
plan to keep the blanket together with all of the other baby
paraphernalia I have lovingly accumulated through the years.
Nicolas, completely unaware of its existence, has no use for it
since he is an avid thumb sucker. Jordan
remains a blanket case, waking every morning to untangle action
figures’ limbs from frayed acrylic edges.
He claims he will be blanket free as soon as he’s eight years
old. |
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Author's Biography I am a stay-at-home mother of two small boys who provide me with some very interesting and humorous subject matter for essays that have not as of yet been published. I have a Journalism degree from Rutgers University in New Brunswick, New Jersey. I live in Oradell, New Jersey, with my husband.
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