dude

you know, it's cool. i totally respect that you only get to see your grandchild a few times a year, so when you get off the plane with a load of plasticky crap and fashion model dolls i can deal. i've already hidden those fashion model dolls for ages 13 and up, but you know, that was easy and you didn't even notice. and it's fine that you take M to the farmer's market under the guise of buying veggies and load her up with cookies and cake. i get it. she begs and you cave. perfectly understandable, she's a manipulative little bugger. and it's fine that you took her out shopping and bought her a gigantic stuffed horse that will never again be touched and will take up about 1/4 of our small home. i get that too. you love her and you can't help yourself. and i even understand that you don't listen when we talk to you, that you are too vain to get a hearing aid and are most certainly almost deaf. i can't leave you alone with her for too long because of it but hey, get a hearing aid and let's rock. no problem. until then we'll just yell all weekend. i mean it, i can live with that.

but then as we were getting ready to take you to the airport after a long weekend, that moment when you leaned close and said i have a confession to make and you tell me that somehow on your walk today you lost her favorite possession in the entire world, her baby blanket that's been here since the beginning, the one she can't sleep without and has never parted her sweet little grip from for more than a few hours, the one that goes everywhere with us all the time, and that it's lost and you have no idea where it went?

well, buddy, you crossed a line there. some things are wrong. just plain wrong. so you just go and get on your little airplane and fly back to your little office and your little fancy car where no one will be crying their eyes out for hours plaintively crying blankie, my blankie. don't worry about me sitting here awake all night consoling a broken hearted child over her great loss. in fact, don't give it a second thought, gramps. we're cool. really. we are cool.

and to his annoyingly existentially minded son who casually said that this is a good lesson, that nothing is permanent and the sooner she learns that the better? you can take your Kierkegaard and shove it up your Nietzsche, buddy. Who's crying now?

i've got a new review up on a way to get yourself organized. i can't claim that it worked too well for me but i vouch for that being 7 parts user error, 2 parts small family and 1 part control freak.