I have read that children can develop complex relationships with imaginary friends and favorite toys, yet somehow I was completely unprepared for the following encounter:

I was in the basement lifting the sixth load of laundry up into the dryer when I heard sobs upon sobs tumbling down the stairs. “Mama! Mama! ahhh-wah-wah-ahhh. Mama.” As a mama, I have developed the keen sense of interpreting the “I-just-fell-down-and-need-a-kiss cries from the “I-want-it-I-want-it-I-want-it!” cries from the “the-badger-is-coming-to-get-me” cries–this was most definitely a “somebody-hurt-my-feelings-and-I-need-my-mama” cry. I met a puffy-faced Ava in the stairwell and asked her what was the matter. Between sobs and sniffles, she told me that she wanted her green blanket. “Ava, your green blanket is on your bed,” I replied knowing that it was the only thing I left on her bed as everything else was swirling in suds.

“But Mama,” whimpered Ava, “Froggy said I couldn’t have it.” Froggy is a chimeball with a frog head and outfitted in lime colored chenille. He has been her bedtime buddy since her early crib days, and, I have been told, is the “daddy” to all the other animals. “What do you mean Froggy won’t let you have it.”

“He said it is HIS BLANKET! And he won’t share with me. All my other blankets are gone. And I need a blanket too-oo-oo.” At this point, the cries had taken over her little frame and I had to scoop her up to stop the trembling.

“Ava, I’m so sorry about your blanket. Is Froggy really not sharing with you?”

“No.”

“It’s naughty not to share, isn’t it?”

“Yes! Froggy’s being naughty.”

“Do you want me to go have a talk with Froggy?”

“Yes. Will you talk to Froggy, Mama? Please, Mama.”

I carried Ava back up to her room where I confronted the selfish Froggy and properly disciplined him. Froggy then shared his blanket with Ava; and they were able to hug and make up.

Perhaps I should have attened the sibling rivalry seminar at my church after all.