Dolls, boys, and a momma who Believes in her kids

Noah has been wanting his own "boy" doll since he was 5 years old. I feel bad it has taken me 3 years to find him one. To actually follow through. But. Hey! I did it. Although my options were next to NONE.

Either I order an 18 inch girl doll and cut her hair and get her some new clothes. .. or... or what? It took me some serious searching to find a website that makes 18 inch boy dolls. I thought it was kind of neat that the dolls are created to help others better understand disabilities. How fitting, you know, in our family? I was a bit disappointed though. They are not as cute as I had hoped. There were not a lot of skin/eye/hair combinations to choose from. I did decide on one with blonde hair and blue eyes though. Yes, I could have MADE him a doll by altering a used American Girl doll or Madame Alexander doll, but I REALLY want him to receive his special doll all in its packaging, in a cardboard and plastic windowed box. Like the gazillion dolls that Emma has received. There is something about unwrapping a new doll and admiring it through the box, then tearing the box open to free your new friend!

Some *assholes* might think or say, "Why the hell would you want your boy to play with a doll?"

Because he always has. Now, this Christmas, he can have one of his own. Not just another stuffed animal or rag doll, but a doll like his sister's! And it will look like him! A little buddy he can cart around to build Lego houses with, to sit next to him while he fights off Creepers in the endless game of Minecraft, a pal to tuck in at night and read to.

Yeah, I got his new doll a bunk bed too and some cute sheets. :-)

I can't wait for Christmas ;-)

all the boxes stored in her head

Music. I CONSTANTLY have song lyrics in my head. Songs are my heartbeat, the center of my soul. I blurt out lyrics in response to what a person is saying to me, if their words strike a chord, if you will, with some song I have stored away in that wacky file box in my mind. Envision it if you would-- the hallways in my head are pristine. Your heels click, click, click on the tile. Aren't you wearing heels? Shit. Well, you are. I say you are. After all, you're in my head. The lights are fluorescent. There are so many doors though. You can hear a child's laughter behind one. A grown woman sobbing behind another. You dare to open a different door. It's a bit dark in here, so you flip the switch. Stacks and stacks of file boxes. A few boxes look as if they'll topple at any moment.You open the box closest to you, and you are amazed. What you thought would be yellowed papers, the corners curling, receipts?, a life's worth of insurance documents?, isn't paper at all. Music, so much music. You look closer at the label on the side of the box:late 80s it reads. My goodness! She's stored every single song, commercial jingle, television show theme, that she's ever heard. Impressive, isn't it?