A few years ago, I took a trip to NYC all by myself. Ah. I had a lot of time to sit on the bus (and sit and sit, thanks to who knows what sort of traffic/unloading/congestion problems). I made one of the Black Apple dolls by hand (I got weird looks from my seat mate, but she was eating a hot dog at 9am, so I didn’t think she had room to talk), and gave it to my son when I got home. It sat in his pile of stuffed animals for a long time, and was passed down to his little sister a few months ago. She loved it.
I decided to make a new, smaller version when we took the train a few weeks ago. I greatly underestimated both my ability to sew and my ability to sew on a train with small children. Oh well. Today, Mr. L and I made her a new doll. He helped pick out the fabric.
I gave the doll to N at dinner time. She squealed. And honest-to-goodness-clasped her hands together in front of her face in joy. I am not kidding. She threw the doll in the air. She ate its legs. She grabbed it over and over and whacked it on her high chair tray. It made my day. It really did.