The Case of the Missing Cinderella

Pea has what has now become a rather large collection of Disney Princess dolls. They are small, about the size of Polly Pockets (and just as frustrating when it comes to changing outfits). More frustrating is that they came with “accessories”: Ariel has Flounder, Belle has a tiny Mrs. Potts and Chip, and so on.

Pea, like any girly-girl at 3, never goes anywhere unaccompanied. Some days it is her Bitty Baby, some days a stuffed animal. And some days, the Polly Princesses (and their friends).

We have left the bloody things in so many locations, I can’t begin to count. Amazingly, we always manage to find them wherever they were dropped/left.

I thought yesterday was going to be the first long goodbye to Cinderella.

A half naked Cinderella and her new friend Flounder just HAD to go to school to pick up Sam. After that, we ran to Jimmy John’s to pick up sandwiches for my parents, as I had once again forgotten to buy lunch meat or anything else suitable to serve them for lunch. Now, after the last, oh, half-dozen “lost” princesses, I’ve told Pea that they have to stay in the car.

Every now and then, she manages to sneak one out.

Anywhoooo, upon returning home, she clambers out of the minivan with Flounder in hand as I gather up school backpacks and food. “Mama, where is Cinderella??? Huh? Um, I thought she was in your hand.

I growl in frustration. Again with the losing of the dolls! I look under her seat. I look between the seats. I dig around in the toy box. I shake out the coats discarded on the floor of the van.

No Cinderella.

I turn to Pea. “Where did you have her last?” “In da car!” she replies.

Gee, what a help. I continue to root through the car, muttering that I was NOT going to go look for Cinderella, she was gone and she should NOT be in the car, blah blah blah, when my Mom wanders out the car to see what is going on.

“I can’t find her flipping Cinderella”. I turn around to continue digging, and feel a poke at my waist.

“Um, I think I found it”, my Mom says. I feel around to the back of my pants.

My darling daughter, child of my womb, HUNG Cinderella through the tab on the back of my pants. You know how some pants have a little tab so you can hang your pants from a hook, for whatever reason?

Aparently, Cinderella can hang out there, too.

Pea looks at me in surprise. “Tanks, Mommy” – like she didn’t put it there, the little shit.

If she is pulling stuff like this at 3, I’m basically screwed by the time she is in high school…

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