We've been shedding stuff - or attempting to, at least. I bundled up some stuff to take to the charity bin at a local church today and after daycare, Mads and I stopped off to donate. Someone else had donated something that couldn't fit into the slot and had left it beside the bin. It was a manky, broken dolls' highchair, and luckily, Mads immediately realised that we needed to take it home straight away for her dolls.
Mads has two dolls, both called Donnie, (this is how she used to say 'dolly'). To distinguish between them they are known as Soft Donnie and Hard Donnie. There is also Softest Donnie, but she's not really a major player. Hard Donnie is anatomically correct and, consequently, generally naked. This works for her, though, because her main purpose is to be submerged in water. You get the feeling she doesn't like it much, but she endures it. You have to give it to Hard Donnie, she rarely complains.
It's Soft Donnie who is the trouble-maker, the cheeky one. She's smaller and less spiky and because of this she often gets picked to go on adventures. It was Soft Donnie, not Hard Donnie, who joined us on the trip to Queensland, it is Soft Donnie who is cuddled up with Mads in bed right now, and I suspect that while both Donnies will be coming to Germany, it will be Soft Donnie who gets to travel in the plane and Hard Donnie who travels in a box along with everything else, via the relocation company. It hasn't been spoken about yet, but we all know it, not least of all Hard Donnie herself.
So I can only guess at Hard Donnie's astonishment when it was she, and not Soft Donnie who was selected to try out the newly acquired treasure. Of course, she was selected because of her other attribute besides being able to go in water - sitting up (Soft Donnie tends to flop around a bit) but still, it was a great honour. Hard Donnie's pride was palpable a she sat up between Mads and me for dinner this evening, in the high chair. Mads even got her a little bowl and spoon. If Hard Donnie could twitter, she would've been twittering like crazy about this incredible turn of events.
I felt happy for Hard Donnie. She might be a little humourless, but she's so stoic and so loyal. I felt that she deserved this little victory. And I wanted to celebrate it, somehow. So I picked up the spoon and started to feed her. I'd only given her a couple of mouthfuls when Mads shook her head.
'Don't feed her, mummy,' she said sternly. 'Hard Donnie has to learn to feed herself.'
Of course. I should've known.
She's still sitting at the table now, bowl and spoon in front of her. Naked. Anatomically correct. But happy, I think, in her own way.