My granddaughter is a good little mother. She is very devoted to her favourite dollies, bringing them up casually with plenty of wholesome exercise, napping, and conversation. She usually brings a favorite along for visits to my house. On occasion, dolly remains behind, mothers need that time away, and my granddaughter oversees the vast orphanage of dolls that reside in my spare room. She is always disappointed to see them restricted by clothing and does what she can. They are tucked in for naps as surely as if she were the old woman who lived in a shoe, and I am dispatched to the linen closet for more blankets rather bossily. Good help is so hard to find.
Tea is served, soup is stirred, and eyes are frequently checked to assess sleep.
Yesterday, from her back seat perch in the car, my granddaughter bid us all a fond farewell. "Good bye dolly," she called emotion causing her voice to falter as her little face crumpled into tears. Mother and child were hastily reunited. Some feelings are universal.
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