Today I threw Emily's left arm in the trash.
I did it on the sly because the little bugs have discovered how fun it is to shove her arm in their little shirt sleeves and pretend it's their arm. Then another little bug will karate chop the fake arm, which will fall out and a lot of screaming will ensue.
Mr. Right taught them this.
I've been known to encourage it.
I am going to get rid of Emily piece by piece. There will be no abruptness to her disappearance and therefore no traumatic, "But we really, really love Emily. We love how we never play with her and she creeps guests out. She is our favorite toy. Don't get rid of her or we'll die!"
Instead they will think, "Oh, Emily is still there behind the couch only now she is missing a leg."
"Oh" they will think a week later, "Emily is still there behind the couch. She is just missing two legs and an arm."
"Oh" they will think much later, "Emily is still there behind the couch. There is her head."
And eventually, "Oh, it looks like Emily's hair has moved elsewhere. That's good for we needed the space for the pots, pans and broken spoon we're hiding from mom."