Barbie Dream House

 I haven't written in awhile. I greatly underestimated the force these memories have on me, and as a result I've been cocooning emotionally, if you will, for some time now. But it's time to give this another go. Today's post will be about Barbies. Stay with me ... There's a point here, I'm fairly certain. 

When I was a kid I loved my Barbies. I played with my friends and collected as many as I could. My very favorite was my Peaches and Cream Barbie, who I named Rose. As I got older and stopped playing, I lovingly stored my collection for a hoped-for future daughter. 

Part of my collection were 2 treasured dolls. They weren't Barbie brand, I don't think. They were smaller. But they belonged to my mom, who passed away from cancer when I was little. They had period late 60's/early 70's hair and makeup, but beyond that I have no idea what they were other than Barbie-like dolls that were smaller. 

But all that mattered was that they were my mom's. And I have almost nothing from my mother. She died when I was 5, and since she was only 23 she hadn't exactly thought through leaving things for people. It happened so fast ...

I was obsessed with Wonder Woman as a child. Ok, ok ... I'm still obsessed with Wonder Woman. My mom drew stars on the underwear of one of the dolls to make her Wonder Woman to 5-year-old-me. This was just one more reason that those dolls meant so very much to me. 

I did end up having a daughter, and I passed my collection of Barbies - plus the precious dolls from my mom - down to her. She played with them every single day, and I often played with her. Every night when her dad came home from work, she would run to the living room with her dolls to play together with both of us. Every year she coveted the special Holiday Barbie, and received it every Christmas. 

Years went by, and my daughter outgrew the dolls. Just as before, I packed them away, to give to her daughter one day. They were stored in a plastic container in our basement, and my ex was not only aware of the fact that they were intended for our daughter's daughter, but he was also well aware of the history of the dolls, including the two from my mother.

A few years later, I told my dear friend she could have the dolls for her little girl. The intention was that they would be given back after her daughter was too old for them. I was so excited to share the collection with a friend's little one who I knew would enjoy them, and why not? They were just sitting in a bin. We made plans for a few weeks away.

Enter The Wolf. She ordered my ex to clean the basement. One day, he told me to take the dolls out of the bin and put them in a plastic trash bag to "save space." I couldn't figure out why, but I complied simply because arguing would have caused a conflict. So I complied with the rather bizarre request. 

A few days later, I went down to the basement to grab the dolls to bring to my friend. But I couldn't find them. I tore the basement apart. Hours went by, as I desperately ripped the entire house apart, seeking the dolls that meant so much. I finally texted him. 

The Wolf replied instead:

"I guess he accidentally took them to the dump this past Saturday."

I almost fell on the floor. It felt like I'd been punched in the gut while simultaneously having my heart ripped out. There were no apologies. No regrets. 

Nothing.

Now I ask you ... Have you ever taken a trash bag full of Barbies anywhere and not known it was full of Barbies? I'm certain no one has taken a bag of Barbies anywhere, come to think of it, but if you could just imagine a kitchen trash bag full to bursting with dolls ... Arms and legs jutting out, ripping the plastic ...

Please explain to me how you could mistake that for trash. Please explain it to me like I'm 5. You know, the age I was when my mother died, with the only thing I had left of her being those dolls that she drew on to make one into Wonder Woman ...

And then please tell me how my ex is a good person, and I was in the wrong. I'm waiting.