The basket in the corner of the girls' room was lousy with toys. Lousy, I tell you! The great cull of previous years had been sabotaged with trash-n-treasure and hand me down items of a fluffy nature.
They were all thrown out onto the bed for the selection process. The girls won't part with any of them so it was up to me while the Big Fella had them at the beach, innocently unaware of the drama unfolding back home. My criteria are simple. Soft toys are silly and take up too much space and collect dust but somehow, some of them have wormed their ways into my heart. They are attached to memories that I like to be reminded of. Yes, I had guilt.
Don't look at me with those sad brown eyes, Roadkill Ted. This is Roadkill Ted the First by the way. He was so named because the Big Fella had stored him in a tea chest for several years when we were overseas. When he re-emerged his innards had evaporated reducing him to a bearskin rug. He has been around since the BF was born so he stays. We reward loyalty around here.
These are the (from the left) the Wicked Fairy, Rapunzel and the handsome Prince. If Fishy sang that song once he sang it a gazillion times when he was three. He and his little sister helped me make these.
Note the baby in the pouch on Rapunzel. Clearly the Prince had already been in the big, high tower.
This is Barry, the anatomically correct boy doll- he of the slightly disturbing spiral eyes and crocheted orphan doll ensemble. Beloved by the now big boys as they prepared for baby sisters, he has been followed by many other dollies but never bettered.
Op shopped Charlie and Lucy. One day I will find, Schroeder, Linus and Sally, Charlie's little sister. So I have to hang on to them in case, don't I?
The triplets. These have all been bequeathed at various stages of little girls' lives. One was Lucy, one Daisy and the other- we don't talk about her. We don't need three but who could break up the set?
Et tu, Brobee? This bad boy was a hand me down from a dear friend. He was secretly squirrelled into the car so her child would not see. See I'm not the only mother smuggling out childhood companions by stealthy sleight of hand. He took up much bed space and has now gone to a better place with a four year old who has just arrived in Australia from Afghanistan. Culturally confusing perhaps but infinitely huggable.