I think that there comes a point in every parent's life when the thought of compromising with their child becomes equivalent to the prospect of willingly eating live bugs.  Case in point:  Kaiya, my four year-old, has a blankie.  What was once a plush throw covered in an obscene black and white cow-hide pattern has now become nearly thread-bare from three years of use and a mottled grey color from numerous washings.  It goes with her everywhere, from daycare to the bathroom at home, and heaven forbid that it is ever forgotten on a night that we plan on staying at grandma's because sleep is a long time in coming.  It is wrapped around her when she is sick (wonderful little germ catcher..) and morphs into her cape, her sled, her carry-all..anything she needs it to be.  And I have slowly grown to hate it.

The adult in me has this driving need to be rid of the ratty thing and maybe replace it with a new and oh-so-fashionable Bratz (Prosti-Tots) blanket or something of the sort.  On the other hand, the part of me that still smiles at the first few flakes of snow and warms at the sight of puppies and kittens recognizes that the ugly piece of fabric means more to Kaiya than something to merely keep warm with.  It is something that she remembers from the time that it was possible for her to remember (right from the day the little stinker came in and stole it off my bed then dragged it to her room).  It's been in her bed every night with out fail, always there for her to sit on, wrap up in, smack her sister with...And she doesn't mind that maybe it's not as pretty as it once was as much as I detest it for being so old and beaten-up.  Conundrum...

So, I found myself today presented with a prime opportunity to be rid of "the blankie" forever.  Grandma and Grandpa were kind enough to buy all of the girls brand new blankets for Christmas (yeah, I know it's not here yet but we celebrated early because they left for Vegas..lucky asses).  All new, all fluffy and bright..and Kaiya was happily wrapped up in Strawberry Shortcake all morning.  Surely she wouldn't notice the old one disappearing in the wake of the newer, softer blanket??  I snuck into her room to pilfer it and stuffed it to the bottom of my trashcan, moving a pile of other garbage on top of it, bidding farewell to the offensive bit of fleece...then got the genius idea to put the bag out in the dumpster under another bag of trash.  Is anyone seeing where this is heading??  lol

The day went well, not one mention of the missing blanket. She is blissfully content with the new one and I'm doing a mental happy-dance thinking I am home-free with the dirty deed.  Bedtime comes and I happily tuck Strawberry Shortcake around her, kiss her goodnight and head for the door..."Mommy, I need my cow."  My head drops, big sigh released.  I turn to tell her that I don't know where her "cow" is but that she has her new blankie so it's ok, just go to sleep.  This is followed by nearly thirty minutes of on and off crying, five covert trips from her room to find the freshly buried cow, and a nearly unbearable incessant whining that is slowly driving me insane...

I can't take it anymore...the next thing I know I am storming out the door into the freezing cold and snow wearing my sweat pants, a tank top and a pair of sandals (dumb? I know, but they were right next to the door), making my way to the trashcan in search of her blankie.  Fifteen minutes of digging through the trash bags (yes BAGS because I forgot which one it was in), I tromp back to the door, stupid cow in hand, only to slip on the steps and fall flat on my ass in the snow.  I lay there, eyes closed, wondering what stroke of stupidity possessed me to throw away the hideous, near-worn-out, oh-so-important, now covered in garbage cow blankie in the first place.  A few minutes later, I realised that my ass is half frozen and soaked from the snow.

I sneak back into the house like the little thief that I am, throw the mis-begotten rag in the washer and pray for it to be clean quickly.  Forty-five minutes later...and Kaiya is wrapped in her freshly laundered and still warm ratty old blanket, and she's looking at me with those adoring mommy-can-do-anything eyes that makes any bit of hassle that you go through for your kids totally worth the trouble.  Kisses goodnight, and I'm out the door.

I'm walking down the hallway with a little smile, thoughts of relaxing bouncing around in my head, when my two year-old comes to her door.  "Mommy...where's my boo's?" spoken in that vaguely accusing, oh-so-cute little toddler voice, and I'm hanging my head with that big sigh again, whining a little to myself, remembering the worn out, scuffed, pink leather cowboy boots that I hid in the garbage underneath the newly restored blankie...and I stomp back down the hall, slipping my sandals on, and head back out to the trashcan...