Why is it that everything that has any value or importance to me has been chipped, lost or broken by my kids?
I grew up with four sisters, no brothers...which is a whole 'nother post in itself...
My mom loved dolls, still does, and is an avid collector. We grew up getting a doll religiously for Christmas each year. Even as a teenager, and not really wanting the annual vinyl baby, I still got one.
Mom took a porcelain doll-making class. I think she really loved it, and did a good job on the babies. She was meticulous about painting the eye-lashes perfectly, and making the brush strokes curl around the temples like the sleep dampened hair of a real newborn. She made a doll for each of her girls. They were big baby-dolls, and they were sized perfectly to fit the little dresses we each wore on our blessing day. I loved this doll! It was a cherished keepsake.
Did you notice I said "was?"
When I started popping out kids every nine months...which is a whole 'nother post... I put that doll on the highest shelf in my closet, cause I didn't want to risk it being touched.
My daughter, just shy of four, who was training to be a monkey in the circus...scaled my closet shelves, and pulled on the doll. It came crashing down, hitting every shelf in the closet before landing on the floor. I was too stunned to cry. I couldn't even say anything. I knew it was an accident. I think my expression alone must have been devastating, even for a pesky three year old.
"I sorry, Momma! I so sorry!"
I didn't want to tell my mom, but my daughter did, in her guilt. My mom took it well, because I know she understood. She had us, and I am sure that we all did our share of damage to her special things too.
I stuffed the doll, and the broken pieces back up into the top of the closet, and forgot about them.
Then last week, we moved everything out of our room, to move into the new master bedroom. I found the broken baby again. Shianne was there, and saw me pull it down.
"Oh, Mom...I remember when I broke that special doll. I am so sorry!" And then tears...she cried, and chanted, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Four years later, and she still feels so awful about it. I hugged her and told her it was okay. It was just a "thing." And things break. Little girls hearts, however, break too. And I wish I would have been a little more forgiving that day four years ago.
The question still remains...Why me? Why not Sam's stupid bird statue he bought in Ecuador? Why don't the kids break their own things?
I think that next time I get something valuable, that I love, I am going to call all the kids together and let them watch ME stab it with an ice pick, like a crazy lady.
"HA, HAAAAA! I beat you to it!"