Our American Girl Story

The story of our American Girls is a story it pains me to recall. Nonetheless, it's a real testament to the bond of sisters and the lengths they were willing to go to look out for each other.

Ella and Virginia got their dolls the Christmas of 2009, and they had never before nor have they since been so attached to any toy. They immediately fell in love with their dolls and adopted them as part of the family. No exaggeration. They dressed their dolls, fed them, read to them, rode with their dolls on their bikes. They walked them in strollers, carried them in slings, bought them presents, combed their hair, and washed their faces. They took their dolls on vacation, threw birthday parties for them, and taught them school lessons. To our girls, the dolls were daughters.

Though Ella is typically mild mannered, patient, and sweet, there are times when she can't control her tongue. Usually those times involve her lashing out at me in unbridled fury. In her fury, she spews such cruel, manipulative, nasty venom, that even a saint would lose her patience. I, being no saint myself, obviously lose my patience.

So, after numerous attempts at reasoning with her, revoking her privileges, rewarding her good behavior, putting her in solitary confinement, and even spanking her, it occurred to me that I had never tried taking away the one thing Ella loved more than any--her doll. I would never have taken away her doll without warning, and so I told Ella that if her behavior didn't change, she would lose her doll.

I don't remember quite what pushed me to the point of no return. Maybe it was "I hate you" or maybe it was "You'll never be a good mother" or maybe it was "I wouldn't care if you died." Regardless, she said something hideous, and I knew that I had to take her doll or else lose all credibility. I told Ella to dress her doll and say goodbye.

By this point, though, Ella figured she had nothing to lose. She hid her doll and proceeded to watch us search high and low for it. We searched the car, the garage, the backyard, the cabinets, the garbage, the closets, you name it. To no avail. Eventually, we found our girls in Ella's room, crying together, and I realized that Virginia knew where Ella had hidden her doll.

I asked Virginia where the doll was, but she only stared at me blankly. I told her that if she knew where the doll was and didn't tell me, she would lose her doll too. Without a second thought, Virginia handed me her doll. "Take it. I could never tell you where her daughter is. She loves her too much, and if she can't have her girl, then you take mine too." Ella became hysterical and begged me to let Virginia keep her doll. Ella threw open one of her drawers, dug through the clothes, pulled out her doll, and handed it to me. I left the room with both dolls.

For weeks, the girls cried. They cried themselves to sleep at night, they cried in the middle of meals, they cried randomly in the store. And although they were crying only about dolls, seeing them so sad broke my heart. Many times, I considered giving the girls opportunities to earn back their dolls, but Daniel talked me out of it every time. He would tell me that the lesson they were learning was more important than any doll. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I knew he was right, but I was so sad for them.

Eventually, I worked up the courage to say goodbye to the dolls. One day while Ella was at school, Virginia and I took the dolls to a garage sale that was benefiting a sick little girl in Ella's class. Virginia cried a little but was brave, and she handed the dolls to the woman running the sale. And then we walked away.

The girls still talk about their dolls all of the time, and sometimes they cry. But since the day I took away those dolls, Ella has changed for the better. She is not cruel or disrespectful to me, and she does not lash out. She always talks about saving up her money to buy another doll. I'd be okay with that.