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Hello, ? Here is a second article for starfish or sand
dollar. This was published a few years ago in ???Welcome
Home??? Magazine, a magazine for stay at home mothers.
When
I was pregnant with my second child, I really wanted a
girl. Our firstborn was a boy, and I felt a daughter
would complete our family. I also wanted a daughter to
share all of my interests so that I could teach her
and be her friend.
At
first, Liz did not resemble anyone in either family. I
would stare at her for hours at a time, trying to
figure out whose genes she had inherited. I noticed
friends and relatives doing the same thing.
Within a year, however, Liz's looks changed
considerably as her hair and skin lightened to match
mine. More and more people remarked that she looked
just like me. One day my mother produced a baby
picture of me that confirmed it: I had a little clone
of myself after all.
However, as Liz's personality developed, I began to
suspect that her looks were the only thing she
inherited from me. She had no interest in learning
about anything that I wanted to teach her. In fact,
her interests were as different from mine as they
could possibly be.
Liz
loves dolls of any kind. She has dozens of them, and
stuffed animals too, every one of which is loved and
attended to regularly. Newcomers are always welcomed
into her ever-growing family, and she immediately
knows if one of them is out of place.
I had
no interest in dolls growing up. As the oldest of
seven girls, my mother kept me plenty busy caring for
real babies. Instead of dolls, I always chose to play
sports and get involved in outdoor activities. I was
sure that if I exposed her early enough, I could
interest Liz in at least trying some of my pastimes.
These
efforts were frustrating; she even turned up her nose
at the shiny, expensive bike we bought her for her
third birthday. And when her brother Steven and I
could convince her to join us shooting hoops, she
would lose interest quickly and go back to walking her
stroller up and down the driveway, arranging and
rearranging all of her kids and their stuff while she
went about her day. She had an imagination that did
not quit. We were amazed at the scenarios she played
out at a very young age.
Liz
didn't care at all that no one else in the house
shared her interest in dolls; she played happily
alone. Occasionally we would relent and join in her
imaginative play. If Steven was really bored and dying
for company, she would convince him to play house.
Even Dennis has been known to join her for an
afternoon tea party. I began to see that my way was
not the only way. Gradually, we accepted her interest
in dolls, and even encouraged it. We bought her a huge
dollhouse to hold the smaller dolls; her grandparents
refinished an antique baby crib for her to house the
larger dolls; wall hangers filled with stuffed animals
adorned her walls; various aunts purchased a dolly
playground, kitchen set and baby doll car seat. Her
bedroom resembled a doll store.
Although we accepted her love of dolls, I still wished
she would get over it. As she neared preschool age,
she retreated into her own little world more and more
frequently. I became desperate to form a common bond
with her. Why couldn't we connect? Why didn't she like
riding bikes or playing ball like the rest of the
family? Why didn't she like anything that I liked?
Where did this little girl come from?
Once
in a while, I would find some middle ground so that we
could enjoy an activity together. Liz would join me
for hours in the garden, admiring the flowers and
picking some to give to each of her dolls. She would
then take whichever were her favorite dolls of the
week around the yard, explaining the flowers to them
just as I had done to her.
Books
provided another area of common ground. Of course,
they had to be books about dolls or princesses, and
she often insisted on reading by herself in her own
way. A big breakthrough came when she was introduced
to a series of dolls that had corresponding historical
books. She would cuddle next to me for hours as I read
the exciting stories about the characters that matched
the dolls on her lap. She even had Dennis and Steven
interested in what might happen in the next chapter of
the book.
One
day she caught me watching her as she had her doll
cook Thanksgiving dinner for twenty-five, just days
after I had done the same thing. "You can come to
Thanksgiving dinner if you want," she said shyly. "You
can even choose which dolls you want to be." I knew I
had no choice but to join in the preparation of the
big feast. After dinner there was a holiday concert
and party, and Liz and I had to bathe and clothe each
of the kids and pets that wanted to attend. For hours
she drew me into a world of make-believe that I had
never experienced as a child. If my daughter had been
just like me, I would have been deprived of
experiencing this fantasy world in which we had so
much fun!
The best part was that once I
agreed to enter her world, she was more excited about
trying out mine. The day after the big Thanksgiving
bash, she actually agreed to try her bike, with her
baby dolls stuffed in the basket, of course.
?© 2005 Donna Gundle-Krieg? |
