The Adventures of Blanket Boy

Let me tell you about how I met Blanket Boy.

A few nights ago, I was chatting on the phone with the hubby, who was (once again) out of town on business when I had to drop the phone and run as fast as I could to the boys' room. Why, you ask? (and I know you are dying to know).

I had to answer the call of Blanket Boy.

Or, in terms everyone can understand, one child was screaming at the top of his lungs, clearly injured. Apparently, "as fast as I can" isn't too fast. Both of my parents had managed to come up from downstairs and turn on the kids' light before I was able to make the short trek down the hall.

What we all found there was a ghastly sight. N's entire face & both his arms were covered in blood.

Upon closer inspection, it became evident that he had banged his chin and his nose, resulting in a scrape and a bloody nose. Nothing major. But very, very bloody.

Later that evening, while we were all still recovering from the trauma, he told me he had gotten his injury on the side of W's bed. I asked if they had been jumping. They both assured me that they had not. What, then, were they doing? They calmly and casually informed me that they had been playing Blanket Boy.

That was explanation enough for the moment. They were ready to sleep, and so was I .

The next day I asked them to tell Yaya (my mom) what they had been doing when N had gotten hurt. Once again, the explanation was that they had been playing Blanket Boy. Yaya asked what that meant.

"I will show you," they quipped in unison & disappeared momentarily to find a blanket.

N put the blanket over his head and said (in a voice reminiscent of Bullwinkle), "Look at me! I'm Blanket Boy!"

W proceeded to run at him and hit him full force on the chest with both hands.

N fell to the floor. Hard. And cracked up.

Then they traded roles. W did his best Bullwinkle and said, "Hello! I'm Blanket Boy!" while completely covered. N hit him full force and knocked him down in a giggling heap.

Despite encouragement that Blanket Boy is a bad idea, this morning Shorty was standing up in his crib, blanket draped over his head, shouting, "Blanket Boy! Blanket Boy!"