I feel like SUCH a bad mother! I did a bad bad thing. There they were, eerily gazing out at me from the top of a box buried at the back of a guest bedroom closet where they'd been collecting dust all these years.
We were all shocked because they'd supposedly been kidnapped back in the late 80's when my parents' car was jacked on their way to visit us in Seattle. Well-meaning mom and dad were going to surprise me by bringing me all my childhood dolls, including the Barbie collection. (We also found the police report for the stolen car fiasco buried in the desk drawer in the same bedroom.) I'm guessing their true sentiment was to clear all that crap from their closets because I'm waiting for my son to land in one place so I can do a drive by on him someday!
Poor Betsy Wetsy. She's the one in the striped frock. She was my favorite because she actually DID something. You poured water into her mouth (or gave her a bottle) and it came out the other end. I preferred a large funnel for the solid stream effect.
When I was bored and bugging her, my mother would tell me to go play with my dolls. I'd wander to my room and stare at them, feeling guilty because I really had no interest. I worried because I didn't feel any love for those dollies. Was I missing the maternal chip?
So farewell Betsy, wee lass, I hardly knew ya. I'm not even sure I gave the doll that appears to be waving goodbye a name. Guess she had a premonition she'd be left on the shelf!