Generations of Comfort

In 1981, I became a noncustodial mother. That label is hard to say, hard to bear. When you state that fact, people look at you and you sense they're thinking, "What egregious thing did you do to lose your kids?" My egregious act was to divorce a husband who said one thing and did something else, and who worked very hard during the divorce process and afterwards to hurt me (in return, I suppose, for how I had hurt him during the marriage).

Eighteen months post-divorce, I moved from the Dallas/Fort Worth area to Washington, DC, to marry a fellow IBMer whom I had met through work. I went from seeing my sons every other weekend and all summer to only seeing them in the summers and on alternate holidays. You take what you can get.

To set the scene for today's post: At a baby shower given by our church while I was pregnant with Tyler (son #2), I received a beautiful bunting (like a sack you slip the baby into, if you're unfamiliar with the term) that unzipped to make a blanket. The blanket was white flannel on the inside and a silky white printed with yellow ducks on the outside. Tyler had stomach problems and a lot of discomfort as an infant, and that blanket became a source of great comfort to him. After we moved to Ft. Worth, when he was about 4, the blanket came in contact with an oil-fueled space heater and one end of the silky fabric melted. I took the blanket apart and remade it into a pillow, which he then loved for several years to come until it totally wore out and disintegrated.

On one of his visits to Washington shortly after my relocation, Tyler asked me if I could make him another blanket like the one he no longer had. A mother doesn't refuse or ignore such a request!! Before his next visit, I went to the local fabric store and got flannel for the front, nylon tricot for the back, and quilt batting for the inside. I made a blanket the size of a twin bed top, and he used it on every Washington stay. When he turned 14 and I finally regained custody and he went away to arts high school, the blanket was tucked away with extra linens where it stayed for many years and marriages to come.

Fast forward to 2001. Beautiful grandson Boston was born. We were all living in Tucson. I was not working and spent lots and lots of quality time with Boston. We bonded early and strong. During one of my Scottsdale Nordstrom shopping trips before he was born, I got him a Barefoot Dreams Receiving Blanket. These blankets, which are now very hard to find, was flannel on one side and silky on the other. Oh, did he fall in love with this blanket! I also got him the travel size and his parents dared not get into the car without packing the travel blanket.

Two years later, my life situation changed and I bought a house a mile away from Boston and his parents and, now, baby sister Ridley. During that move, I uncovered Tyler's 30-year-old race car blanket. We had lots of sleepovers, and I would cover Boston with his daddy's old blanket.

Then the parents had an epiphany about their lifestyle, and prepared to move back to Youngstown. Sleepovers became more frequent as the babies and I steeled ourselves for the separation. About three weeks before they were to leave, Boston—now five years old—asked, "Grandma, can I take Daddy's blanket with me to Ohio?" Of course, I said yes. I'm not very good at denying these darlings anything!

Then he told me he wanted me to make a label to put on the blanket. When I asked him, what he wanted it to say, he dictated:

Boston's Sleepover with Grandma
This was Daddy's blanket when he was a little boy.

If you look at the photo above, you'll see that's exactly what I did.

Fast forward again. It's 2012. He's been in his new home and life in Youngstown for five years. He [still] sleeps with this blanket (and several others!) every night. But this is the one that always goes next to his body. He loves the silky fabric, just like his daddy did—so much so that he's worn a hole in it and the fabric has ripped.

Once again, Grandma comes to the rescue. Last night when I babysat, the blanket transferred hands, with its owner's hopes that it would return quickly. While waiting for the parents to get home from a movie, I cybersearched and cybershopped to order white nylon tricot yardage. While I wait for the fabric to arrive, I'll remove the torn backing, carefully remove and preserve the label, then replace the backing and the label.

And again be a hero to my offspring and off-offspring. Aren't I lucky?!

I'll finish with a little family lore. Tyler's blanket was referred to as his blanket. To Jaci, a blanket was a woobie - which is, I guess, a midwestern term. When Boston started talking, he translated "woobie" into ah-boo, which we wrote as "obu". He also translated "mama" into "rara", and—even today—she is known as Rara. And handsome, smart, and talented 10yo Boston will ask, at bedtime, "Rara, where's my obu?"

Makes you wonder what his kids will call their blankies, huh?