So, I’ve had to Barbie dolls tucked away in my closet for a few months now. I bought the dolls thinking that there’d come a day when I’d be in need of a respite and would gladly hand them over to Mo and Co for some playtime. Today was that day.
The girls were finishing up their breakfast — yes, the tone of the day had been established quite early — and I brought the dolls down, setting them on the kitchen counter facing the wall. The plan was that after breakfast, I’d let them pick a doll and they could go play while I had my International Foods Coffee moment.
Coever is notorious for bypassing her meal for whatever beverage is being served up. As a result, we withhold the drink until she’s eaten at least 3/4 of what’s on the plate. I had left her cup on the counter and went upstairs to get the dolls. When I came back down, I checked her plate, was satisfied with her progress and she came with me into the kitchen to get her cup of juice. Morgan, who had been reading to herself on the couch, came into the kitchen and promptly began to relate the reason why the cup of juice that had been left on the counter was empty.
“And then, Coever came in here and drank up all the juice and put the juice cup back on the counter and then went to the table!” she finishes dramatically.
Then her eyes land on the Barbie boxes on the counter. “Are those for me?”
But wait a second. The cup of juice wasn’t empty. There had been juice in it when I gave it to Coever. Whether or not she sneaked a few sips while I was upstairs, who knows? But when I gave it to her, there was juice in it.
So I say to Morgan, “Why are you telling tales? There was juice in the cup. Why would you do that?”
“Well (aah the infamous well), um. . .sometimes. . .I. . .get,” and she is steadily eyeing the Barbie’s. “Sometimes, I get cranky when Coever doesn’t give me time by myself to get myself together.”
“Well, Morgan,” I say, “You’re going to have plenty of time to get yourself together right now. Go on into the other room, please.” I scoop up the dolls and head off to the laundry room to put them out of sight and out of mind.
“But Mommy,” comes the plaintive wail, “What about the presents?!”
“Morgan,” I say, “you lied to me about something, so I’m not going to reward you by giving you a doll.”
“Oh. Please don’t tell Daddy!”
That’s the extent of her concern. Not that she slandered her sister, but whatever.
Morgan, clearly in the wrong, will not be receiving a doll today. The question I have though, is what about Coever? She, having done nothing wrong (as far as the juice is concerned), could have her doll. But should I give it to her and then deal with the inevitable Morgan-sized fall-out? I’m just not up for that. Surprisingly, Coever seems to have forgotten about seeing me bring the dolls downstairs in the first place, so I might just get off the hook on that little technicality.
I have a feeling one, if not both, of them is going to bring it up. Yes, I am the grown-up. Yes, I don’t have to give it either of them today, tomorrow, or ever. Still, I’m curious.
What would you do?
What would you do?
