My sister has a similar pic at 4 years old. But she got it from me hitting her with a baseball bat. I was swinging in the middle of the yard and she came up behind me. I still got blamed even though I was in the middle of the yard with no one around...I checked. The little sneak. That'll learn her.
I don't have many toys from my childhood. Didn't have that many I think. I do have a good sized doll from Germany. She had real hair eyelashes (of which one is now missing) and glass eyes (of which both are missing) so she really needs the doll hospital. I didn't play with her much because she only had one dress. Her shoes are missing now too if she ever had them. She lost most of this stuff by being stored in my parents' hot attic. When my mother took her out of the box she was in and gave her to me she never noticed the missing eyes and eyelashes. The box was tossed so if they were in the bottom, they're long gone. I haven't found a doll hospital willing to work on her because she's celluoid or composition or something easily breakable or will explode or flameable or something stupid. And she needs eyes that have flat backs which apparently aren't common so....
I figured I might try to make her eyes out of fimo when I had a lot of time on my hands for practice.
I have my snowman. I never had a teddy, I had a snowman. Kinda a white lump like with two black eyes and a felt mouth my mother sewed on.
I also have a green crocheted poodle my Aunt Dorothy made me and a crocheted poodle bottle cover.
I still have my Barbies but they bring me sad memories. My mother crochet me a ballgown for my Barbie (and I had the complete Guinevere outfit and Arabian Nights outfit that I bought with my own money I saved) and my Dad humiliated me into giving them away at a garage sale with my Barbie Dream house. They were inside and I forgot. When I saw them I said not the clothes. The Mexican buying it wanted a deal and my Dad kept trying to convince me. I kept saying it over and over again but Dad kept saying I wasn't a little kid anymore and they'd make some other girl happy. Eventually I said do whatever you want and went in my room. Later he brought me the money and I told him I didn't want it I wanted my Barbie clothes. He of course remembers nothing. Parents never remember when they make you cry or humiliate you.
I remember every detail. I've spend plenty of money on eBay trying to buy back my childhood. (I'm still missing some of the Arabian outfit).
But I'll never be able to buy back the ballgown my mother knitted for me.
The eyes have it.
I don't have many toys from my childhood. Didn't have that many I think. I do have a good sized doll from Germany. She had real hair eyelashes (of which one is now missing) and glass eyes (of which both are missing) so she really needs the doll hospital. I didn't play with her much because she only had one dress. Her shoes are missing now too if she ever had them. She lost most of this stuff by being stored in my parents' hot attic. When my mother took her out of the box she was in and gave her to me she never noticed the missing eyes and eyelashes. The box was tossed so if they were in the bottom, they're long gone. I haven't found a doll hospital willing to work on her because she's celluoid or composition or something easily breakable or will explode or flameable or something stupid. And she needs eyes that have flat backs which apparently aren't common so....
I figured I might try to make her eyes out of fimo when I had a lot of time on my hands for practice.
I have my snowman. I never had a teddy, I had a snowman. Kinda a white lump like with two black eyes and a felt mouth my mother sewed on.
I also have a green crocheted poodle my Aunt Dorothy made me and a crocheted poodle bottle cover.
I still have my Barbies but they bring me sad memories. My mother crochet me a ballgown for my Barbie (and I had the complete Guinevere outfit and Arabian Nights outfit that I bought with my own money I saved) and my Dad humiliated me into giving them away at a garage sale with my Barbie Dream house. They were inside and I forgot. When I saw them I said not the clothes. The Mexican buying it wanted a deal and my Dad kept trying to convince me. I kept saying it over and over again but Dad kept saying I wasn't a little kid anymore and they'd make some other girl happy. Eventually I said do whatever you want and went in my room. Later he brought me the money and I told him I didn't want it I wanted my Barbie clothes. He of course remembers nothing. Parents never remember when they make you cry or humiliate you.
I remember every detail. I've spend plenty of money on eBay trying to buy back my childhood. (I'm still missing some of the Arabian outfit).
But I'll never be able to buy back the ballgown my mother knitted for me.