Hagen loves his blanket.

He’s had it at least since he was a year old. It’s also the cause of his latest bruise. He took it over his head, spun around in circles and tripped right into the leg of the coffee table.

He got it from his grandmother.

You know what? My mother was right on all counts except one. She said I’d get a child just like me… well, I have two. They each have taken on something I used to do that annoyed my parents and have turned it on me.

I’ve had my blanket since I was four years old. It’s probably accurate to say I only have about one eighth of the thing left. Its been through hell and back!

Like Hagen I used to drag my blanket EVERYWHERE. I took it anywhere I would be sleeping, in the car, to McDonald’s… Or I at least remember trying to take it everywhere. Sometimes Hagen will sneak it out to the car without me seeing and that’s a big fight. I have to take it from his and, oh kill me now, WASH IT. The world is ending when I stick that thing in the washer! He just bangs on the little glass door screaming, “Oh no! My blankie!!”

I hope he gets over the smothering stage quickly because I dare say his won’t last half as long as mine has.

Though, I have prolonged mine’s life a few times already.

The back was put on two years ago when it was a giant hole. I found some pink fabric at my mom’s house that felt a lot like my blanket so I sewed it on there.

Yeah, I know.

I sleep with a blanket and I’m turning twenty-five!!!