This is what I did about two weeks ago. She was at a sleepover so I decided that it was time for a sweep. I went through and got rid of a bunch of stuff, stuff that I never see her play with and stuff that I was just plain tired of looking at. Nothing of actual sentimental value...so I thought.
Yesterday, I get a message from Joe. "You need to call and talk to Madison."
I called and I heard "waaaa" "sniff sniff" "gurgle" "baby" "waaaa" "doll" "ehhhhh". I double checked the number to make sure I hadn't misdialed and gotten some crazed lunatic's home/asylum by mistake. Nope, correct number.
I'll spare you the gory details but apparently I donated to Salvation Army her most favorite baby doll ever in the world and now she is sad and can't function on even a minor level because everything she does reminds her of the time spent with said doll.
Me? Donate you baby doll that you have had since you were two? I don't think so. I couldn't believe it! I must have just thrown it in by accident. I wouldn't have done it on purpose...really. I promise. I tried to talk her down from the ledge but it just wasn't working so I told her maybe it was still actually in her room and to look again and I would help her when I got home. Lies.
I now remember that it was in the bag, that bag was definitely taken to Sally's, and I am definitely the worst mother to ever walk the planet. Ever. I, of course, get the bright idea that I will go there after work and look to see if it is still there. No way someone bought that doll...no way I said. No way.
I'm not sure what I was thinking, wait, yes I do. I was thinking that I would walk into that stinky, dirty, dusty store and a beacon of heavenly light would be shining down onto the pristine body of that baby doll with its arms outstretched ready to go back home where it belongs.
I have quite the imagination.
Instead I am greeted by two pack and plays from the 1980s filled way past the brim with stuffed animals and dolls. Please, let me remind you that these toys have seen better days. These raggy, mangey, moldy stuffed beings...well, it was just pitiful. That's the only word I can think of, oh, and gross. Who would donate this stuff. But, I, determined to save the day went ahead and dug in. Each time I reached my hand in I prepared myself to pull back a bloody nub. FINALLY, I saw a doll head!
I grabbed it and pulled it out and this is where I tell you the God's honest truth. I screamed and jumped back about 3 feet and didn't even draw the slightest of attention from anyone. What stared back at me was something that has survived (if you can call it that) many a war and many a brother or sociopath. This doll looked back at me with one clicky eye open, one nubby arm and one leg that had been duct taped on, it was dirty and it hated me.
I didn't need any other sign, I left. I'm still sanitizing my hands.
Went home empty handed (luckily I had both of them) and if I know my daughter, and I do, when she is 30 years old she will call me and say "Remember that time you donated my favorite doll?"
And I will say, "Yes."
I hate dolls, they scare me (obviously) so here is a picture of Bocephus, he's due for some screen time.