Well, you can't be good at everything.

For the longest time I have regarded handmade quilts as an item listed in my "top ten things to buy from somebody else". Well, you can't be good at everything and quilting was where my sewing buck stopped. I have been perfectly content with that idea and have been bribing people to make beautiful quilts for my family ever since. So, this next post, I am blaming on my grandmother. In my childhood home there was this packed linen closet filled with blankets that she made for my family, in fact, I would wager that all of my siblings still have one sad weeping blanket in their house that was crafted by her. While none of the blankets was a quilting work of art, they all have profound meaning to us. (The bottom line was that we basically had really pathetic grandparents. Please do not think that I am being disrespectful about my grandparents, but all three sets had some major things going on and we (the grand kids) were often left in the lurch as a result. You can only be ignored for so long before you start to feel a little bit resentful as a child. So these blankets became the one normal "grandparent" thing we ever really had. ) Regardless of the issues, this Grandmother made us blankets. Simple, fuzzy, filled with love blankets. These blankets went to sports camps, sleepovers, college and every other conceivable over-night excursion.

Before I was born she made my oldest two sibling's matching yellow blankets, but as children were added and rooms rearranged these two blankets were down-graded to "extra bedding" and one found itself in my room under my heinously pink coverlet. I loved this blanket, it was worn soft and in my childhood imagination it protected me from all the scary things that wanted to nibble on my toes. It was the first blanket yanked from my bed when a tent was needed or a fancy cape was required. I was the only girl in camp without a sleeping bag. Needless to say, I used this blanket. Shortly after my sixteenth birthday my family moved across the country and my mother, after examining the shabby state of this blanket, deemed it dead and was not going to bring it along. The look on my face must have been shear horror, because much to my excitement, my mother pulled it's twin out of the closet and handed it over. So, yes, I still have one. College, marriage and baby have not destroyed it yet. It sits in my linen closet, much as it did in my childhood, and waits for little hands to transform it into some special memory. For a blanket that is over 30 years old, it has seen a lot of life. This simple tied blanket has come to represent an amazing, underestimated gift, lovingly sewn by my grandmother.

As you can tell, this blanket holds alot of sweetness for me, and while I cannot recreate my childhood for my children, I can give them the tools that will make their childhood full of imagination and tender moments. One of these tools is a quilt, made just for them (or apparently an older sibling, usurped by a younger sibling!). For Abug's seventh birthday, I am making him a blanket. Not just any blanket, a full on quilt. I know, what am I thinking. I am sure at the end I will see all the imperfections, but I am hoping that when Abug is 30, it will only add charm to his memories. And, of course I will tell you all about it later (it has already begun, and yes, I need five months to pull this off!).

Here's the question: What things have you given to your children to help them have a good and special childhood? Do you have any items or cherished toys that standout? I want to know. Maybe my kids could use that too?

Rebecca

**The picture is of a little dish Abug made in art class. It's hilarious and amazing. It was the perfect size to place over my sink to stow my rings when I am doing the dishes. Abug was happy to oblige. (Mom, it's very fragile, Mr. E can't reach it there so I guess it works!)