Broken Things

Heidi's afraid of broken things. Is that weird? I noticed it when Alison cut the head off of one of her baby dolls. Heidi went hysterical and couldn't look at the poor flopping head of baby, but couldn't walk away either. I wondered. Maybe she was just mad that Ally had destroyed her doll. Nope. When Ken's leg fell off, her fear was cemented-- the same reaction. Screams of terror. The inability to move away. A couple of months ago, she threw a tantrum at the table, bucking so hard that she sent her chair backwards into the door. Her head hurt and she was upset about that, but nothing compared to when she realized one of the spokes on the back of her chair was broken. When she gets used to seeing it (because in our house we firmly believe in going beyond the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" to the "if it hasn't stabbed anyone in the eye and can be jimmy-rigged with baling twine and duct tape, don't fix it"), everything is fine. She even willingly pushes the button on the creepy laughing bear now. And Ken (because we only have the one and he's THAT valuable) is a sad amputee that our fifty Barbies gladly consort with and Heidi packs around.
This morning I was playing dead with Heidi-- you know, dramatically falling to the ground, jerking convulsively, and then lying still. What?! You don't do this? No wonder my kids are screwed up. Anyhoo. While she didn't freak out, she reached over and grabbed my face. "You okay, Mom? You okay?" I said I was dead. She said "No. You okay." I'd better start budgeting in for therapy later.