Welcome to the Dollhouse
But then, Sage asked me to play dollhouse with her.
I realized, in the three months since I helped put the darn thing together for her, it's something we hadn't done together. Not once.
I suddenly felt that flush of embarrassment and guilt. What kind of mom never plays dollhouse with a daughter who loves loves loves playing dollhouse?
I had to stop myself and make a mental list all the things we do do together in the limited time we do have together. We read books. We watch movies. We go to ballet. We play games. We draw. We have fashion shows (and oy, the last one nearly gave Nate a heart attack). We go out for pancakes. We build LEGOs. We eat dinner and sing silly songs and after, I poke her belly to "count" the number ravioli she's eaten.
Okay phew. So I'm not a total parenting failure.
In a short half hour, I learned that the mouse family and the people family can't live in the same house together. And that the mom and dad sleep in separate rooms because that's where the pillows are. The stove is outside for easier access. The daughter sleeps on the couch because it's pink. The brother was sick but is not sick any more. The kitchen is stocked with granola bars and fruit roll-ups and pizza with no sauce. There is a swimming pool outside, and a zoo and a trampoline in the backyard. The lamp is enchanted, so when you press a button it spins around and around and when you touch another button it freezes. And the daddy always likes to carry the children upstairs to bed.
Children live in such a magical world. I need to invite myself over more often.