The Chelsea doll is lost, and “Barbie?” followed by tears is playing on a regular loop in our house. I think I am going to have to break down and buy another one. And let’s face it; that is the best way to find anything that is missing. As soon as I walk through the front door with a new one, the old one will suddenly materialize in the middle of the living room floor. I’m already mad about it.
The loss is distracting her from enjoying her new Barbie Dream House. Teghan likes things that come in groups of three, and she used to have three dolls. Up until the Chelsea tragedy, she was playing with this thing nonstop.
It’s not the dollhouse I would have liked as a kid. The living room is on the third floor, and there is an elevator from the closet to the bathroom. There is a fireplace sticker on the outside of the house that seems out of place. Who comes up with this stuff? Teghan doesn’t care. She likes to put the dolls on the potty and in the bed, and she enjoys pushing all the buttons that make noise.The hair dryer sound scared her for the first day, but has now become an obsession. Continue reading
My husband keeps labeled photos on his phone for Teghan. She loves to thumb through photos on our phones, and will often use this as a communication tool. Sometimes she just wants to laugh at videos of herself. The other night she found a picture of my friend’s son Jacob. She said his name and just stared at it. She looked at him for an incredible length of time.
I know she likes him a lot. She is excited when he comes over and will follow him around. She likes to sit right next to him. But what does she really think? Who is this kid to her? I have little to go on. I know when I was her age I was in love with no less than twenty boys. Twenty exactly- I even had a list. I ranked all the first grade boys by how much they impressed me romantically, and my (dreaded) list was distributed weekly. Continue reading
The holiday season brings people home, and offers that rare opportunity to see friends from our past. Last Wednesday night I found myself eating dinner with three women who knew me when I teased my hair and pegged my jeans. It had been twelve years since we were all in the same place at the same time. I had other friends in those days, but these particular three formed a very specific group.
It got me thinking of that old cliché about how much easier it was to make friends when we were kids. When did I stop approaching strangers in public places to ask if they wanted to play? How do we wind up with the people we end up with in any given phase of our lives?
Once upon a time, I belonged to a school district that combined two of its schools in the seventh grade. What a horrible idea. As if entering junior high wasn’t stressful enough, there were a lot of strangers on my first day of school that year. All efforts toward elevating my social status in the sixth grade had been for nothing, because the social scoreboard was going back to zero. The scorekeepers? Twelve year old girls. Continue reading