Grace sleeps with a scrap of silky material that was dubbed "Shiny." It's meant to be only a night-time comfort. But she has retrieved it from her crib and is right now wearing it as a scarf and feeding it through my all-in-one fax-copier-printer.
I used to carry a blanket that resembled cloth diapers sewn together. My mom insisted washing it one day, prying it from my crying clutches. It never came back. She told me the washer ate it.
I have wondered how to sever Grace's attachment to Shiny. But betrayal and deception isn't really my thing.
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