The Misadventures of Catching a Snipe

My folly this morning was temporarily forgetting who my children are and what day of the week it is. I mention forgetting who my children are because anyone who knows my Nicole will not be surprised by the following episode. I mention the day of the week because TUESDAY (said with a definite note of doom, thus the capitals and bold letters) tends to be the day that things are always going wrong.

I woke up this morning when my alarm went off at 6:30. I knew that I needed to get up, but the coolness of my room and the warmness of my bed caused me to stay in bed a little longer than I should have. When Nicole and Austin came into the room around 7, I forced myself to get up. I told the kids that I was getting in the shower and would make their breakfast after I got out. Because I knew that at least 2 of the children were out of bed, I fully expected my usual shower interruptions. However, after 20 blissful minutes of nothing but quiet and hot water I got out without having spoken to my children once. This was a rare enough occurrence that I made note of it to all of the Internet world. It even crossed my mind that it was really the best way to begin a TUESDAY.

I had my bedroom door locked while I was getting dressed. That's when the knocking started. It was Austin wondering when I was coming to make his breakfast. A few minutes later, Austin knocked to ask where Nicole was. A few minutes after that, Austin had discovered where Nicole was and that's when the door pounding began. You would think from the frantic pounding that someone had just lost an arm or something equally awful. That wasn't the case, but it was almost as serious.

"MOM, MOM, MOM, NICOLE IS GETTING INTO THE BARBIES!!!!!!!" I have a collection of Barbie Dolls that was started when I was 15. I have collectors dolls, historic dolls, holiday dolls, dolls from around the world, dolls based on movie characters, and some that are just ordinary Barbies that for some reason had meaning to me. The dolls are all in their carefully preserved boxes. The children know that my Barbies are one of my few possessions that I keep just for myself, one of the few things that are completely off limits. Nicole knows from previous experience how seriously I take this offense. When I got downstairs, I found the box ripped open and the doll sitting on the floor next to it. It was "Happy Family Barbie", the doll that I purchased when I was pregnant with Austin, probably the last doll to be added to my collection.

I have read many parenting books most of which agree that "natural consequences" are the best ways to teach your children. So what is the natural consequence of despoiling one of Mom's prized possessions? The only thing that I could think of was cutting her out of my will and leaving all of the Barbies to Erika, but I think I need something a little more immediate. Maybe removing her hands?