This week is a week of purging. I’ve cleaned the basement of toys that the kids no longer play with. You know, the ones that your kids haven’t touched in six months. I’ve sold the baby stuff on the local buy sell Facebook page, I’ve listed things on Kijiji and I’ve over-filled three recycling bags for the donate bin in the parking lot of Save on Foods.
There’s this Princess doll. One that the kids haven’t touched in months. One that I pulled out of the package because one of Olivia’s friends was being a brat and not sharing her toys that she brought over to a playdate. I gave it to Olivia, and she played with it for four minutes until the allure wore off and they went off into the sunset to play something else.
While going through untouched bins of toys this weekend, I came across the doll and listed it on the Buy/Sell website for five bucks. Win/Win, I add $5 to the vacation fund of purging all of the things and it’s one less thing that I need to pick up.
The person came to pick up the doll, I added five bucks to the envelope and removed the doll from the pile of things waiting to be sold on the bench in the front entryway.
Great, until Olivia noticed that I was selling her beloved
ignored and thrown into the bottom of the Toybox doll and literally had a meltdown, ugly crying, crocodile tears, run up to me and throw her arms around my neck sobbing.
And, it was hilarious. Literally hilarious. I ruined her life. That’s got to give me some merit for the meanest mom, right? I was literally breaking her four year old heart at that very moment and hugging her while I was trying to stifle the laughs after making eye contact with Jamie.
The best part? Five minutes later she had no recollection of it. Her dad and I were helping her to build Lego while Violet napped and we asked her what the best part of the day was – she replied with the lego, right there building it together. I asked her about the worst and she thought for a moment and said that she didn’t have a worst part of the day.
The point? It doesn’t matter if you’re a mean mom. Your four year old isn’t going to remember anyway. Well, until she’s at therapy when she’s an adult and has a complex that her mother sold all of her toys when she was a child.