There’s nothing like sitting in absolute silence, only to have it shattered by what sounded like female cats fighting over the last catnip toy on the planet.
I had been sitting on the couch (when am I not sitting on the couch?) reading all about Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, when Gaby and Kennedy, who had, up until that point been playing nicely together, decided to get into a heated argument. By the sounds of it, I half expected to walk into their bedroom and find each girl circling the other, marking off their respective territory. Instead, right as I was about to round the corner into their room, Gaby let out the most pathetic wail I have ever heard.
I walked into their bedroom and Kennedy, the two year old, is standing there with her hands behind her back, while Gaby, the eight year old, is clutching something bluish-green in one hand, and something with a lot of hair, in the other.
It turns out it was Helena (the mermaid doll pictured below), who had met a rather King-Solomon’ish end. Kennedy and Gaby decided at the exact moment that they both wanted to play with Helena and neither girl was going to give up her “half” of the doll. A tug o’ war ensued and poor Helena lost her head!
It doesn’t matter that Gaby has no less than seven or so of those dolls and I’m pretty sure at least three of them are Helena’s identical triplet sisters, but Gaby is nonetheless bereft. OK, “bereft” might be putting it lightly. She’s pretty upset and is now demanding, in that really special way that 8-going-on-15 year old’s have, that I now paint a line down the center of their room and “Make Kennedy stay on her side and never ever ever, not ever again, touch a single one of . . .” Gaby’s toys. Except for the ones Gaby already gave her. And maybe the magnet dolls. And the Barbies in the blue box, but not the Barbies in the pink box. And the puzzles. Kennedy can play with the puzzles. And the dress up toys, those are totally OK too, but Kennedy can’t ever touch anything else, which leaves a handful of things off-limits. So I told Gaby that I’d glue the head back on, but Helena would forever be frozen that way. Gaby said she was cool with that, but not before she turned around and looked at me, and with a really sly grin, said;
“Mom, just be sure you don’t Super Glue yourself to my doll!“
It seems even my eight year old knows about my history with Super Glue. However, I’ll have you know I have managed to successfully keep from gluing myself to anything for the last several years!
I’m pretty confident that I can fix Helena and not end up in the ER having a doll head/body professionally removed from my hand. I’ve come a long way since those days, so you guys can just stop worrying! Actually, I’m more confident in my ability to repair Helena than I am in negotiating a detente between the girls when it comes to this business of insisting I paint a line down the middle of the bedroom. We all know how that two year olds pretty much scoff at things like that. Yep, pretty sure I’m gonna have much better luck with the Super Glue!