Last night as a husband and a father, I learned the importance of a baby blanket (a lesson that every dad will learn), especially one that was handmade by a dear friend and given as a gift to our daughter. It turned out it was my doing that caused it to mysteriously come up missing. Big surprise, right?
We journeyed out last night on a double date, plus one — our friends and our youngest daughter, Charlotte. Charlotte was having a hard day, so we did not feel comfortable leaving her behind with the sitters. I had flashback memories of when I had taken care of a baby and could not sooth him to be at peace. I thought about the young girls with five walkers and runners to take care of along with a upset five-month-old baby. I imagined getting the call in the middle of dinner for a rescue. No, let’s just keep her with us.
Oh, yeah, this is supposed to be about “the blanket.”
After a superb supper at the Keltic Star, we prepared to depart and became, for the first time, aware of the missing “hand-crafted blanket.” The look I received let me know that the recovery of said item was detrimental to this outing being a success. After surveying the restaurant and interviewing staff, I came back with nothing but notes in mind. We departed. On the drive to retrieve our older children from the home of the other half of our double date, I took notice of the expression on the face of my passenger. It was like a very special friend whom she had deep, deep adoration of was never to be seen again. “Maybe it was with the other girls,” I commented, offering a glimmer of hope. We were sure it had been with us, though. After loading the girls into the car for the ride home, I offered to search the city until the successful recovery of the “hand crafted by a dear friend baby blanket.” Well, at least the route of our adventure this particular night.
I dropped the girls off at home and asked the Lord for help as I departed the driveway. The first restaurant we stopped at had a hour wait, so we did not stay there. I interviewed the hostess and bartender with results of heads moving side to side. I checked the area where we parked and departed to the second stop. As I drove through the dark, icy streets, I remembered the story of my father-in-law driving for a hour to a known location for a blanket recovery when his daughters were young. I rounded the corner on the street where we had parked, and a block and a half later, there lay the infamous blanket, warming the dirty, slushy snow on the edge of the main path of vehicles.
I had been carrying the car seat as I walked behind the car, and one of two blankies draped over Charlotte slid from the carrier. This was not the first time this had happened, but it was the first time that nobody was behind me to call out my mistake.
On the drive home, I thought of the relief my wife would have and how she’d be able to sleep peaceably–well, as much as a woman can with a five month old. I also thought of the snow that was covered by the “hand-crafted-by-a-dear-friend, green-with-frilly-edges baby blanket.” Did those crystals of ice appreciate the time that they had with the warmth and security of this piece of fabric? Did they know just how special this particular blanket was? Or did they just feel smothered with a barrier placed between them and the cool wind?
My wife was relieved, I was relieved, and Charlotte had her “hand-crafted-by-a-dear-friend, green-with-frilly-edges baby blanket” that doubles as something neat to chew on.
The moral of the story? Make reservations when you take your wife out for dinner.
You might want to keep an eye on that blanket, too.