The Baby Doll

Nora has played with wooden toys once loved by her Daddy but even though she had seen this doll, only a few days ago did she begin to play with it and "mother" it. She has rocked the baby to sleep in her wicker rocking chair, wrapped her in a blanket and carried her around.  This doll was mine when I was a little girl, and although her face and hands and feet are well preserved, her cloth body is worn and stuffing is showing. This baby is like the skin horse in the Velveteen Rabbit book, she is "real"- she has been well loved, a good thing when you are 70 years old!

I was older than Nora when I got this doll, 7 yearrs old. My best friend and I were in second grade.  We played after school, had sleepovers, dressed her kitten, and talked our mothers into getting us matching dolls. Mignon got hers first and named hers Wendolyn, called Wendy. I named this one Gwendolyn, called Gwen. We played with the dolls and treasured them.  We also loved being friends, and still are to this day!  I do not know if Mignon still has her doll, but this one continues to delight a little girl.  

I will do my best to repair the cloth tears and keep her stuffing in because Nora asked me to fix her!

Nana's Doll

Nana's Doll           

When she was a little girl

 my mother was proud

of a doll whose smooth porcelain face

shone pinkly beneath her chestnut curls

twinkling blue eyes that went to sleep

 when Opal laid her down

Dressed in rosy dimity

dainty with a fine lace peplum

her bonnet matched

Modesty satisfied, her sheer skirt

 hid crochet- edged petticoats and pantaloons

Tiny socks and shoes, a precious

embroidered velvet pouch

on a chain to hang on her wrist.

When I was a little girl

the doll lay in what was left of her box

wrapped in an old white sheet

stored in Mother's quilt chest

I begged to see her, fascinated

 by her age and her outfits

oh, so many!

 handmade by Grandma Terrell

and Great Grandmother Curley,

my French great grandmother.

full length coat with buttons

made of blue twill and paneled -

soft pink rose patterned percale.

folded in neat stacks: print dresses, tucked bodices,

 gathered skirts, nightgowns, a cap and a blanket

all discolored by age and smoke

 from a family house fire.

Why didn't I ask her name?

When my granddaughters ask

to see the doll, they are intrigued

 with the story, awed

at how old she is

They feel sorry that she lives in a box

I am glad no one asks her name

but I am trying to follow instructions

written in flowing pencil script

on the tattered piece from her first box:

“Take Care of Her”     Santa Claus

  ~ Mary Ann Parker, written March 2013

Playing Dolls

I went with my daughter in law and granddaughter this week to a newly opened store in Houston, the American Girls doll store. Skye's doll, Molly,  went along because she was going to get her hair done - the doll, not the girl!  The store was packed with little girls carrying a variety of American Girl dolls.  It was a beehive of  girls, complete with shrieks and giggles.  We watched as the doll was strapped into a miniature salon chair and covered with a shampoo cape.  A stylist (one of several)  spritzed and brushed out all the tangles that several years of play had created, then braided Molly's hair and tied on new ribbons.  I was proud of Skye.  The huge store is filled with tantalizing dolls and all their pretty outfits and accessories, everything from teepees to canopy beds and garden tea sets.  So many things to ooh and ah over.  Skye's mom and I did our share of admiring.  But Skye stuck with the budget and left with only the new hairdo for Molly. It was tempting, and maybe someday we will go back.  But there is a lesson here for many of us much older than 10 years:  delayed gratificaton, sticking to a plan, and enjoying what we can afford without complaining.  Good for you, Skye!