Uppitay, uppitay, uppitay! Who would have thought that Alden would use a made up word from a phrase that I would tell him when I was lifting him up saying, "uppitay, uppitay, uppitay," to name his blanket. Yes, the ever so almighty power of the blanket. "Uppitay" is the hug when feeling down. "Uppitay" is the smile when Alden sheds a tear. "Uppitay" is the safe place, the security, the cuddling, the support, the warmth, the beauty, and the strength all sewn into the threads of what others may perceive as just a blanket. He carries his Uppitay with him just about everywhere, except to go to school (at first, he did take it to school in his backpack). So gently, he holds Uppitay close to his face, gliding it across his cheeks. He then moves it down passed his chest and tummy. He holds it out, never taking his eyes off of it, almost like he is counting the worn threads or perhaps, studying their patterns. He moves his fingers across the chenille core over and over again where the fabric is raining, separating piece by thread. Alden brings Uppitay again to his face, and jumps up and down and moans, "ehhhhh." Life is now ok.
Alden holds Uppitay like it is a lifeline. Well, to him, it is. The familiarness of what he has always known. Since birth, this was Alden's warmth and comfort. Now, this is what makes sense in Alden's universe. Uppitay is a constant; a beautifulness to life's chaos. When life doesn't make sense and language overloads the already overloaded stimuli of the world around him, Uppitay is his serenity.
Alden is my Uppitay. Life is going to be ok.
