Most little girls -- I'm told -- are baby doll fiends. Like little mommies, they dote on dolls, carry them around lovingly, dress them meticulously, feed them tiny doll food or cradle them in their laps as they upend tiny doll bottles into their mouths. They sing them songs, rock them to sleep, plan tea parties for them, push them around in strollers and even tote them along on the road in tiny doll carseats.
Clara is not one of those girls. It's rare for her to attach herself to any doll other than Dolly, a little stuffed doll that she's slept with since she was a baby. But Dolly isn't dressed, fussed over, fed, or strolled around the house -- she's simply snuggled with at night and abandoned all day long in Clara's bed until she scoops her back up at naptime.
Most of the dolls in our house wind up naked and neglected, languishing in a doll cradle that was mine when I was a little girl. Once in a great while, Clara will decide to play "mommy and baby" and collect all of the dolls and play with them in a sweet, nurturing, gentle, way -- giving me brief hope for the future -- and then the next minute, she's left them sprawled defenseless on the floor while she ties a bandana around her neck, fashions a lasso out of a jumprope, and joins Joey on the walkie-talkies as a cowboy spy.
So needless to say, it was a surprise when she took a particular liking to one of the naked dolls a few months ago. She carted it around for a couple of days over the summer, and then, one day, took notice of the fact that there was a small tag hanging off the doll's hip.
She brought it to me for inspection.
"What does this paper say?" she asked.
I glanced at it briefly -- several lines of text about how to clean and care for the doll -- all advice that would certainly be of no interest to Clara. I turned the tag over and read the words on the other side out loud: "It says 'Made in China.'"
I was a breath away from launching into where exactly China is in relationship to Moraga when Clara cut me off in a hushed, awed voice, and gushed, "Oh my goodness, is that her NAME????" And then she actually squealed, "Now I finally know her name!!"
She was looking down at her bedraggled, naked doll with such maternal love and newfound
ownership that I didn't have the heart to break it to her that no, that was in fact where the doll was manufactured.
Instead, I said, "I think you're right!" while stifling a giggle, and amused myself for weeks and weeks afterward -- each and every time she asked where Maiden China was, insisted that Maiden China accompany us on outings, or tried to wrestle her out of one of the dog's mouths: "Maiden China is
my doll!!" Moms
need this kind of comic relief. Seriously.
But of course, it was only a matter of time before Maiden China and her unique name met a more discerning audience. Maiden China, who got lost in the fray of Clara's birthday celebration and the holidays, was rescued from the bottom of the doll cradle last week, one minute before we left for school, while Clara tore her room apart in search of an item for Sharing Day at preschool.
I saw the doll being shoved into Clara's backpack as we walked out the door, and had a moment of misgiving.
"Is that... is that Maiden China?" I asked tentatively.
"Yes, " said Clara happily, and while juggling my car keys, the baby, and my diaper bag, urging everyone to get in the car and get buckled up as quickly as possible because -- of course -- we were late, I tried to picture the exact moment during Sharing Time when Clara would proudly proffer her doll and share its name. The placid acceptance of the other 4 year-olds, and the confusion of Miss Margaret and Miss Tiffany. Would Clara be asked to repeat herself? Would they hide their smiles, or share a knowing look? Worst of all, would they try to imagine how she got her name, and what moment of lazy parenting resulted in this moniker?
In the end, I pushed aside the impulse to steer Clara toward a different toy, or bestow a last-minute name change.
Because we may never know exactly what happens during a preschool day. But we do know that preschool teachers
need comic relief. Seriously.
