I wimped out.
I was too tired.
My back hurt.
These were the excuses I made, but in truth I had images in my mind of Emma’s face the next morning when she discovered them ALL missing. Morning dawned and we were again confronted with the endless barrage of costume changes. Much to everyone’s relief, Emma finally decided to move all her Barbies upstairs. However, after a short time, an argument broke out; the subject of which I was not yet party to. But we ALL heard Emma’s screams of anger.
Miguel, our 6 foot 3 inch 19 year old, decided to take matters in his own hands. He was close enough to hear that what Emma was enraged about was the Barbies. In the midst of her tirade at Gabriela and Bethany he strode in, picked up the nearest plastic container and scooped up all of the Barbies, (all fully dressed for once) slapped a lid on and left the room.
Operation Barbie Storm accomplished in one fell swoop. I could only imagine Emma’s astonished face.
In the meantime, I was enjoying the sudden silence as I continued my preparations for a study unit on the Solar System. Miguel presented me with said plastic container, tersely explained why he had confiscated them and left; returning to his duties in the packing shed. As I typed on the computer and searched for interesting pages on Pluto as well as other planets, the bulky white container sat at my feet.
Eventually Emma repented of her sin, but I guess she did not think that she could plead her case adequately enough as an advocate arrived to beg on her behalf. She chose well. Bethany with her big, brown, soft, doe eyes appeared at my elbow.
“Mummy, Emma says she is sorry for yelling at Gabriela and me. She wants to have the Barbies. Can she?”
I stared at Bethany, and her eyes stared back sorrowfully. (Yes, Emma had chosen well.)
“She says she's sorry, Mummy.” Bethany pleaded on behalf of the little one who had just been screaming at her. I continued to stare at her as I weighed the wrath of Sergeant Miguel V.S. Emma’s ability to cry f o r e v e r . The thought of Emma’s fortitude won out, and I relented. The white box was pulled out from under my desk and carried gratefully upstairs by Bethany. As I watched her little back disappear up the stairs, I resolved that I must develop a back bone and rid the house of those pesty Barbies with their insatiable need to change their worn and faded ball gowns every twenty minutes.
However, so far my back bone has not strengthened one iota. Not one. The Barbies still rule…
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