BLAME IT ON THE DOLLHOUSE
When I was 5 years old, my parents got me a doll house for Christmas (yes, we were a Jewish family that celebrated Christmas, but just for the gifts…a whole other blog topic). I thought that doll house was the most magical thing I’d ever seen. I spent hours in the pretend world of the perfect little family and their pretty little furniture. The future was written on those teeny tiny walls – my goal in life was to have a family, a house, and the imaginary life I saw in those miniature rooms. Though not everything in my life went smoothly (honestly, whose life does?), this dream did. Peter and I created the doll house family that I had imagined when I was five – “a boy for you and a girl for me,” a la the song Tea for Two. We bought the doll house – well, it needed a lot of work, but it was our doll house nonetheless. Here I was able to indulge my compulsion to organize, sorting itty bitty socks and color coordinating closets.