A cute kid story, and I don't even like kids. Actually, it isn't that I don't like kids; it's that I don't like them near me. My maternal instinct was left out completely. I fully support those with maternal instinct who are having kids, and I admire good parents and their dedication.
Yesterday, at the big family gathering, there were three new ones. Brother and SIL just got the verdict a few weeks ago that they will be allowed to adopt their current three foster kids, who are 8, 7, and 2. There had been a legal question being settled the last few months between contending "claimants" on the kids, but the state has spoken, and now the adoption is just a matter of paperwork.
So in the midst of everybody else in the big gathering were these three, the youngest three there. Not too bad as kids go, and brother and SIL are obviously great with them.
But the 2-year-old, who impressed me on this first meeting as being a fairly quiet 2-year-old, no crying fits and obviously tried to "think" through puzzles such as present opening, got a stuffed purple pony with a wildly fringed mane. Sigh. Realism issues aside, I'm sure it was a great gift for her. She loved it.
Lots of other gifts, of course, and things eventually got left temporarily for other things in the process of sensory overload. Toward the end of the afternoon, the different carloads were starting to pack up and gather things. I had kept an eye on the purple pony, because it was on the couch immediately across the room from my chair and directly in my line of sight and also because it was so, well, purple. But was a pony. Anything horsey, even if purple, will draw more of my attention than nonhorsey gifts.
The pony was on the couch at the back of the cushions. A few minutes before the "gather things up" cry went out, two other family members of the teen variety from another car sat down on the couch with typical "who cares what was already there" nonchalance, essentially on top of the purple pony, which was now invisible.
So as the "load the wagons" call was made by brother and SIL, I commented, "There's a purple pony that A and B are sitting on. Don't forget it."
I hadn't even realized the kid was in the room; she was behind a recliner, and she's short enough to be invisible. But soon as I spoke, even before the pony could be extracted, the 2-year-old yelled from out of sight, "That's MY pony!!!!!" Pure defiant "hands off" tone. It was by far the loudest statement I'd heard from her all afternoon.
Everybody had to laugh. I'm glad she's got a pony she appreciated so much, even if a purple one.
I worked at a camp where we had a purple pony - seriously She was really a little red roan QH mare, but she was the closest to purple I ever saw on a horse and that was what we jokingly called her color.