It's a magical land. A place where the pigments are the crayola crayon of colors, the sweets are the candied of all desserts, the people are all placed in one big happy category; there is no right and wrong or good or bad; only one kind and they were put before her to only love and smile and say "hiiii" in the raspiest small voice coming from behind blush colored heart shaped lips placed below jewel toned eyes that shine like diamonds.
Her hair always seems to be too heavy on top and curly in the back to be any sort of structure. The tresses pulled atop her crown and fastened with a small teeny tie seem to topple over in whichever direction they please and she uses her two tiny little hands to always brush it out of her eyes.
She sees things in a different light, through that of a young innocent child, the world her very own treasure chest, climbing and digging about, rummaging for lost gold. She laughs often, squeales with frustration when she can't use her own words to emphasize what she is apparently admanent about getting. She apologizes with a huge (head in the shoulder) hug when she has done wrong, and loves nothing more than to snuggle up and watch a movie during the late evening hours just before bed.
Crimson is a color she customarily envisions. Most see red out of hatred. She sees red out of the little fleece blanket with the tag. Not really very certain where this particular linen has sprung from. Maybe it had come with a Cars or Lightning McQueen soft toy somehow attached to it that her older brother had received for a much earlier Christmas or birthday present. He would have undoubtedly detached the toy from the cloak and tossed it elsewhere. Aside from a particular pillow he obsesses over, he hadn't an attachment to much aside from the bottle when he was a baby and having to take that feat and rid him of this habit, it's not with anticipation that it's looked upon to rid her of hers.
It's certain this red fleece blanket used to be much brighter, much cleaner, much newer. Her older brother was now 7 so it was aging well but not if this one little girl could not keep her sticky paws off of it.
At showers, while in the hospital, recovering at home with guest and visitors coming and going and bringing and dropping off items of the baby sort to leave with the newest addition and the mother; blankets upon blankets of baby blankets. Mounds and heaps neatly folded in stacks on shelves in closets. How this specific blanket was pulled out and used on this particular baby who immediately took a liking to its soft fleece fibers, it's bright red hue, it's rather tattered and torn tag placed strategically on one of the four corners. Never has a blanket seemed to have so many corners when one is twirling and spinning this blanket around trying to locate a small dingy tag while the baby cries to be comforted by the red cover. She wants the tag, she wants the blanket, she wants her pointer and middle finger on her left hand to pop into her mouth and she wants to shut her eyes and drift off to dream about bubbles and butterflies.
It's a blanket. It just so happens to be red. It's made of fleece and it's half the size of a twin flat sheet. It's not exactly a concealed coverlet. It's easily heeded in its unhideable hue, it's bulky size a big burden and it's textile tresurous in torrid summer temperatures. But to this young sweet child it's a lifeline. Its a complete part of her, like another limb entirely. It's secure and safe, it's comfort and calm, its as warm as her mothers womb and rosy red as love and respect that only she can see.
The tall tale this textile could tell. She's a (red) caped crusader chasing her big brother about, she's a Rapunzel with (red blanket) hair tossed over her tower bed awaiting a scale, she's invisible completely when it's placed over her head, it's a fort when strategically situated and climbed within. It's the cover in the car, it's the comfort in the shopping cart, it's "night night" time, it's dragged and dredged through sun, snow, and sludge. It's secretly stolen and washed and then tumble dried supersonically and then restored to its standard station, lightly upon her before she awakes. It's carelessly cast clearly present in every picture captured. It's never forgotten atop the diapers and wipes and extra outfit and desitin and tippy cup and snacks and booger bulb and all the other items tossed into a pink backpack when going on short trips. It's thrown over the shoulder, baby placed on hip and carried to and through every destination and adventure embarked upon. It's a symbol of everything she holds near and dear to her heart and she we get desperate at times to have it. If you try to take it from her, she will make it crystal clear that she is the rightful owner and will take you down with a squeal that will crack your eardrum with a shattering scream and a tug and pull causing her to huff and puff backed by all her toddler sized strength.
It's a very special part of her and this childhood she plays out, a future untold..how far this could go and how this could all play out. One day be left behind, forgotten or outgrown? Perhaps a small piece tied to her wedding garder, a secret from the past and to all others unknown. Something old, something new, something borrowed something blue, something red, something still carried about when she says her I do's. No! Not possible, this can't always be the case. Only time will tell what is to happen to this little red blanket and its lifes perfect place.
Friends til the end, through thick and thin, washed ragged and wore, stains crumbs and more. First year, present, and future near - Little Miss Viand has her little red blanket, have no fear and stand clear!
Her hair always seems to be too heavy on top and curly in the back to be any sort of structure. The tresses pulled atop her crown and fastened with a small teeny tie seem to topple over in whichever direction they please and she uses her two tiny little hands to always brush it out of her eyes.
She sees things in a different light, through that of a young innocent child, the world her very own treasure chest, climbing and digging about, rummaging for lost gold. She laughs often, squeales with frustration when she can't use her own words to emphasize what she is apparently admanent about getting. She apologizes with a huge (head in the shoulder) hug when she has done wrong, and loves nothing more than to snuggle up and watch a movie during the late evening hours just before bed.
Crimson is a color she customarily envisions. Most see red out of hatred. She sees red out of the little fleece blanket with the tag. Not really very certain where this particular linen has sprung from. Maybe it had come with a Cars or Lightning McQueen soft toy somehow attached to it that her older brother had received for a much earlier Christmas or birthday present. He would have undoubtedly detached the toy from the cloak and tossed it elsewhere. Aside from a particular pillow he obsesses over, he hadn't an attachment to much aside from the bottle when he was a baby and having to take that feat and rid him of this habit, it's not with anticipation that it's looked upon to rid her of hers.
It's certain this red fleece blanket used to be much brighter, much cleaner, much newer. Her older brother was now 7 so it was aging well but not if this one little girl could not keep her sticky paws off of it.
At showers, while in the hospital, recovering at home with guest and visitors coming and going and bringing and dropping off items of the baby sort to leave with the newest addition and the mother; blankets upon blankets of baby blankets. Mounds and heaps neatly folded in stacks on shelves in closets. How this specific blanket was pulled out and used on this particular baby who immediately took a liking to its soft fleece fibers, it's bright red hue, it's rather tattered and torn tag placed strategically on one of the four corners. Never has a blanket seemed to have so many corners when one is twirling and spinning this blanket around trying to locate a small dingy tag while the baby cries to be comforted by the red cover. She wants the tag, she wants the blanket, she wants her pointer and middle finger on her left hand to pop into her mouth and she wants to shut her eyes and drift off to dream about bubbles and butterflies.
It's a blanket. It just so happens to be red. It's made of fleece and it's half the size of a twin flat sheet. It's not exactly a concealed coverlet. It's easily heeded in its unhideable hue, it's bulky size a big burden and it's textile tresurous in torrid summer temperatures. But to this young sweet child it's a lifeline. Its a complete part of her, like another limb entirely. It's secure and safe, it's comfort and calm, its as warm as her mothers womb and rosy red as love and respect that only she can see.
The tall tale this textile could tell. She's a (red) caped crusader chasing her big brother about, she's a Rapunzel with (red blanket) hair tossed over her tower bed awaiting a scale, she's invisible completely when it's placed over her head, it's a fort when strategically situated and climbed within. It's the cover in the car, it's the comfort in the shopping cart, it's "night night" time, it's dragged and dredged through sun, snow, and sludge. It's secretly stolen and washed and then tumble dried supersonically and then restored to its standard station, lightly upon her before she awakes. It's carelessly cast clearly present in every picture captured. It's never forgotten atop the diapers and wipes and extra outfit and desitin and tippy cup and snacks and booger bulb and all the other items tossed into a pink backpack when going on short trips. It's thrown over the shoulder, baby placed on hip and carried to and through every destination and adventure embarked upon. It's a symbol of everything she holds near and dear to her heart and she we get desperate at times to have it. If you try to take it from her, she will make it crystal clear that she is the rightful owner and will take you down with a squeal that will crack your eardrum with a shattering scream and a tug and pull causing her to huff and puff backed by all her toddler sized strength.
It's a very special part of her and this childhood she plays out, a future untold..how far this could go and how this could all play out. One day be left behind, forgotten or outgrown? Perhaps a small piece tied to her wedding garder, a secret from the past and to all others unknown. Something old, something new, something borrowed something blue, something red, something still carried about when she says her I do's. No! Not possible, this can't always be the case. Only time will tell what is to happen to this little red blanket and its lifes perfect place.
Friends til the end, through thick and thin, washed ragged and wore, stains crumbs and more. First year, present, and future near - Little Miss Viand has her little red blanket, have no fear and stand clear!
The way that you write is "almost" the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen....but you will always be the MOST!
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