Stain Quilt

I would love to assemble a quilt of all the funny stains on my children’s clothing. The food, spit-up and poop stains would make up the majority of this blanket, but its the ones with stories behind those indelible marks that would make it more of a memory quilt.

For instance, the famous raspberry-speckled stains from Thanksgiving 2006. I was being such a responsible parent by removing the clothing immediately after the meal and then scurrying to the nearest bathroom to scrub out the Cherry jello from Emma’s beautiful peach-colored velour old navy dress and sweater. But then I stuffed the newly washed clothes into a plastic grocery bag that also contained the unwashed cleanup rags used to wipe the Cherry jello off of their faces. And then proceeded to forget what was in that bag for a couple weeks while the cherry jello somehow migrated all over her entire dress and sweater in a bunch of pink speckles. Some more major scrubbing on my part salvaged the dress, but not the sweater which could be sewn nicely into a quilt square.

Oh and then there was the entire load of their clothes that sports black streaks left from a missing black crayon that took a ride in the dryer to spread its love amongst my most favorite of all of their summer attire, including their birthday outfits and some brand new, never been worn clothes. Let me just say, tears were shed in large amounts. Every attempt to scrub out those wretched marks was accompanied with sadness and loss. They are just clothes and I do laugh about it now. Believe it or not, by the time I was done trying to save and scrub those clothes clean, it was the end of the season and they were already unable to fit into most of them. Kids grow fast.

Or the more recent addition that happened as of moments ago. I was changing Josiah’s diaper, the more labor-intensive kind and silence was happening in the next room which usually means, uh-ohs. Then I hear a small voice say, “wet.” As I wrap things up with Buster, I open the door to find Emma’s shirt soaked down the front and then she tells me, “Momma. Wet. Uh-Oh.” Ok just too big of a drink of water, no big thing, so I pick her up. Then a peculiar smell wafts from her mouth not like anything a baby should smell like. It was a more mature smell, like that of coffee. Sure enough there sat my coffee cup on the table with a large pool of spilled goodness all around it. Fortunately it was cold, very cold actually, so cold that I even thought it was yucky. So I asked Emma if she tried Momma’s coffee and did it taste yucky. “Yah” was her answer to every question. So though I have high hopes for removing this stain, I may have to save a spot in the quilt for this one. I have to say, laying your child down for a nap with coffee-breath is weird.

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