The Trauma…

On Thursday last, I sent The Him into Mini-Me’s school with a box of toys to donate to the Bring and Buy Sale.  You know the Bring and Buy Sale?  Where Mammies can offload a pile of redundant crap for a good cause, but where you know your minions are going to arrive home with someone else’s offloaded redundant crap, but it’s for a good cause… so everyone wins really?

Yeah.

My first mistake?

In my Sudafed inhibited state, I placed one of her “favourite” (apparently) dolls on top of the box.  Now, I don’t recall seeing her play with this doll for quite some time, but as she informed me in HYSTERIA on seeing Daddy place the box in the car, “It’s my FAYAAAYVWIT Dolleeee!”

Initially, I shrugged in off and tried the whole, “we have to make space for Santa to bring new toys melarky”… and then I envisioned her sitting in her class the next day, watching one of her classmates playing with their new Dolly, which she still sees as her Dolly and I imagined how utterly dreadful that would be for a not quite 6 year old, and so the heartless wench in me subsided.  I couldn’t do it to her.  I just couldn’t.

If she had moaned a bit, fine.  She usually complains once, just to be complaining, but quickly forgets about things.  This time however, the tears were real.  They were silent and genuine and she was trying so hard to control her wee sobs in the back of the car, that I HAD to take note.  I know I come across sometimes as being hard on her.  Hard yes, but not heartless.

And so suddenly, we had a problem.

It was like being plunged into Toy Story… How the HELL was I going to get the Doll back before some other unsuspecting and innocent child bought it in front of her?  I had visions of her attacking said new owner and the Doll being ripped in two in the playground.  But worse, I had visions of her breaking her little heart as her “favourite” Dolly got hugged and loved by someone else, right in front of her eyes.

A message to the school FB account and all was sorted.  When I got the “Is this her?” message with the picture of the rescued Doll, I almost danced with joy.

I blamed The Him of course.

The Doll shouldn’t have been on the pile, but I’ll not admit that it might have been my fault.

Nope.

All his.

And so thanks to Mammy’s quick thinking and the secretary’s quick response, home she skipped on Friday evening, her favourite Dolly under her arm.

My second mistake?

And this is one that TRUST ME, I shall NEVER make again.

I gave her €5.

Five. Fecking. Yoyo.

When I said this in the staffroom at work, the other Mammies gasped and snaughled at my stupidity. Pity none of them thought to warn me eh?! (Note to self, my first book shall be entitled “Mammying: the unwritten rules that Mammies should be told rather than having to learn for themselves.” Too long? I’d buy it!)

In my defense, I did tell her that she had to spend €2 on a gift for Princess.  Have to teach her to share you know? #twatmum

She arrived home with SO much crap, sorry, “stuff”, that she needed an extra bag and 4 more arms to carry it.  A teddy, a broken game “Poo face”? “Pie Face?” or some such eyebrow-raise-inducing “Nevergonnahappen face” from Mammy, Cards of something I’ve never seen before…AND the best one?  A toilet for a doll.  That flushes.

I shit you not!

And was there anything in this loot for Princess?  Was there feck? (Although the Dolly loo may come in handy for the potty training journey that lurks ahead in 2018.)

 

“She can share wif me Mammy.  It’s for BOTH of us!”

Yeah right.

So lessons learned.

Don’t assume that she doesn’t play with particular toys anymore.

And for Bring and Buy sales?  50c will do from now on.

Someday, Mammy will learn.  Until then? We’ll gin it and wing it.

(Are you following me on Bookface?  I’m on Instagranny too!  Oh and sometimes, I twit as well as Twat!)

What’s the most ridiculous thing that has arrived home in your Minion’s schoolbag?