Both of my girls love to play with dolls. Daughter A., of course, splits her doll time with her time outside catching wild birds and frogs. Daughter Q. is a lot more extensive, shall we say, in her doll play that Daughter A. Daughter A. will feed and clothe her babies, rock them, put them to bed, get them up, and generally play house with them.
Daughter Q., however, lives out a complete drama with them. One of them was bathtized the other week {baptized, for those of you who don’t speak Q.}, and “in the name of the Fodder, the Son, and the Howy Ghost” no less! {Her father informed her that she really should have let a minister of the Gospel do it rather than doing it herself, but still praised her baby for wanting to follow the Lord like that.}
Her babies have birthdays. They learn to walk. They fall down and hurt themselves. They catch horrible illnesses.
This week was my all-time favorite so far. Something happened to one of her babies, and the baby went blind. For a couple days, Q. had to lead her through our house. If the baby tried to go somewhere on her own, Q. came running and comforted her because she invariably hurt herself while trying to navigate the house alone. Thankfully, the baby’s sight was miraculously restored yesterday afternoon.
Here is my question: if one of the babies suffers a mortal wound or illness {which seems inevitable considering the seriousness of what we’ve seen so far}, what does a mother do? Have Daddy bury it in the backyard? Si suggested putting it in a tomb for a few days and then resurrecting it like Lazarus. And am I obligated to buy a replacement? Can she still play with a “dead” baby? I wonder…
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Love the “Meet Me in St. Louis” dialog. Very fitting!
I remember a time when my children thought everyone rose from the dead. I finally realized it was because the only stories we read to them where someone died were from the New Testament — when Jesus would perform a miracle or rise from the dead himself.
I love your “Darndest Things” posts! This one has me listening to Diana Ross and the Supremes on YouTube and thinking about little Tootie in “Meet Me in St. Louis.”
Tootie: Poor Margeretha, I’ve never seen her look so pale.
Mr. Neely: The sun oughta do her some good.
Tootie: I suspect she won’t live through the night, she has four fatal diseases.
Mr. Neely: And it only takes one.
Tootie: But she’s going to have a beautiful funeral, in a cigar box my Papa gave me, all wrapped up in silver paper.
Mt. Neely: That’s the way to go, if you have to go.
Tootie: Oh, she has to go.
I like Si’s idea. It goes along with what I have seen in my own girls as to being practical in one’s imaginative play. They wouldn’t want to let anything happen that would cause a final end to the story.
That said, I find your daughter’s drama to be on a more advanced level than I ever saw, and very charming!