Ratty frayed towels and sheets with holes.

Yesterday I went on a bit of a shopping spree. I bought half of a set of new towels for the bathroom (the first half I got for Christmas) AND I also bought a new set of sheets.
When Bruce and I were engaged and preparing for getting married and living in our own house, we bought good quality towels. We also bought several sets of sheets, both flannel and jersey knit (because my husband wasn't used to using a top sheet and didn't think he could be comfortable in traditional sheets...but that's another story). That was back in 2000. Now it's nearly 9 years later, and the towels are looking like rags with frayed hemlines and the occasional bleach spot. I'm sure the dog won't mind being dried off with them, but I'm embarrassed when we have company in our bathroom. Our flannel sheets has a huge run like a cheap pair of nylons and our jersey sheets are warped and stretched out of shape with pencil-sized holes scattered about. Our quilt that was hopelessly dated and had a rip or two (thanks to Rita), was lucky enough to also be replaced this Christmas with a swanky new duvet (thanks to Mom & Dad).

I'm very thankful that I still get a little spoiled at Christmas, even though I'm all grown up. And I know that I'm blessed to be able to live with the means to go on a mini shopping spree now and then. But the thing that makes me feel truly blessed, that thing that makes me so very grateful, is that I was actually needing new towels and sheets. When you look at the divorce statistics I can't help but feel scared. Each year in Manitoba there seem to be between 2300 and 2500 divorces. More than one-third of marriages in Canada will end in divorce before the thirtieth anniversary. I never used to worry when I saw the statistics, I'd just use my cock-eyed optimism and say that our love was real, so divorce would never even be a thought. Seeing friends' marriages end, and learning how truly hard it is to keep the marriage life-raft afloat when dealing with children and two shift-workers desperately sleep-deprived and stressed, I've learned that divorce doesn't mean that it wasn't true love. Do I think I'll end up a statistic when it comes to divorce? NO WAY, NEVER!...well, I don't think so, and I certainly hope not. But I now realize that I have to work to keep it. Maybe bite my lip so that nasty remark stays inside where it belongs. Maybe do something sweet to remind my sweetie how much I love him a little more often.

My marriage has outlived all my linens (except those tablecloths that sit in the closet, never on the table). I think that's something to be proud of. I can't wait until these towels get ratty...

Is the Mama Chipmunk at all worried that Junior might choke?

Have you ever been to summer camp or some other childhood activity where they had the Chubby Bunny contest? If not, playing Chubby Bunny is seeing how many marshmallows each kid (or maybe adult) can fit into their mouth and still be able to say "chubby bunny". I haven't seen this since my youth, but I'd imagine that these days I'd be more worried about the enormous risk of choking to enjoy the puffy-cheeked, barely audible, spit-splattering fun.

If you're wondering how many tater tots an almost 2 year old can fit into his mouth, I'm not sure because I only gave him 6 on tonight's supper plate, and although it dismayed me when I saw that he had crammed them all in at once when I went into the kitchen to get my glass of water, I could also tell that he had room in there for at least a couple more, especially because he was asking for more with those still in his cheeks. We are working hard teaching one bite at a time, but he doesn't seem to get it. It's those days when he's grabbing raisins by the handful and shoveling them in that I hope I can remember my Heimlich maneuver.