Boy Mom Monday: Tit for Tat

We (well, I) hold these truths to be self-evident:  that, just because my husband saw fit to throw a Y chromosome into the mix two times in succession, I do not have to live a completely un-frilly existence.  For example:  I AM ENTITLED TO HAVE THROW PILLOWS.  AND I AM ENTITLED TO EXPECT THAT THEY NOT ACTUALLY BE THROWN - OR, THAT IF THEY ARE THROWN, THEY BE PICKED UP AND RETURNED TO THE COUCH.

Let the record show that I do not have an excessive number of throw pillows, relative to a lot of women I know.  And I make sure that most of them are useful:   down filling, minimal embellishments to cut into your cheek should you actually decide to rest your head on one.  When I do stray from "useful," I am careful to conspicuously advertise this fact:

I also have refrained from bringing in any new pillows in recent years.  Everything's a slipcover (it's all ball bearings these days!), so the same pillows stay out year-round - they just change their look.  This eliminates one of Spouse's throw pillow objections, minimizing issues with "off-season storage of odd-shaped things that don't easily stack."

Slipcovers are also marginally cheaper to replace when the Little Dog eats them.  I say marginally cheaper, because I have expensive taste in fabric choices, result being that some of my slipcovers might as well be complete pillows.  European down-filled ones.

Here's the problem:  if a pillow (or blanket throw) hits the floor, Little Dog will chew on it.  He isn't one of those dogs who chews things for sport, but he is one of those dogs who cannot resist sleeping on something soft.  And, rather unfortunately, he chews in his sleep.

Seriously.  We have a sleep-chewer.

I managed to make it several weeks without fabric loss, and then I found my favorite teal-and-white chevron throw tossed on the floor in the living room, with the dog on top of it.  I yanked it out from under him seconds before his jaws clamped down on the fringe.

And I got reaaaaaaaaaally ticked, and proclaimed another truth:

If I find a pillow or blanket on the floor, I get to take one Xbox game.  Or PSP game.  Or whatever.  I just grab something at random.  Might be something you care about, might not.  If you don't want to gamble, STOP THROWING STUFF ON THE FLOOR.

This morning, I found this with a chunk taken out of the corner:

That's not just any fabric, folks - that's Kravet.  ("Lutron" linen in the mahogany colorway, if you want to get specific.  Discontinued.)

I can stitch the corner, but the same cannot be said for Spouse's college sweatshirt.  How it ended up on the floor, I don't know - but I know enough about Spouse to know that he didn't put it there.  And now it has an Ace-shaped hole in the shoulder.

Prepare for the unleashing of parental hell.