Things have been smelly around here. Really, really smelly.
One word ... football.
Who knew boys could get so stinky? When I pick my son up after a three hour practice held in 95-degree heat, I crank the air conditioner ... and crack the windows so I can breathe.
When we get home, his dirty clothes cannot, under any circumstance, be tossed into the hamper; instead, they are hung outside on the back porch to dry . . . and air out.
After the last game, even his football gloves smelled funny. Everything but his cleats went straight into the washing machine.
Stink. Stank. Stunk. If blogger had a scratch-n-sniff feature ...
Okay. We won't go there.
On the other hand, here's Timothy's pezzetta (his blankie).
He has slept with his pezzetta ever since he was born. It used to be one blanket, but after a scary couple of hours when we thought it was lost, Nonna cut it in half and made two pezzettas.
And here's the best part: his pezzetta has the most wonderful smell. It smells sweet, and good, and cuddly, and so much like the little boy. When I make his bed in the morning I hold it up to my face and breathe deeply. It gets washed frequently --in the same detergent as his other clothes -- but it still has its own special smell. How does this happen?
I truly don't know . . .
but I sure wish football players had pezzettas.