When I was 5 years old, my grandpa built me a dollhouse. Even as a little girl, I remember being amazed at the intricate bricks that formed the two-story-high walls and the individual shingles that topped the roof. The front side had a tiny front door which, if you pulled on the tiny handle, opened on tiny hinges. A staircase with a delicate railing connected the two floors, and each of the 5 rooms was painted a different color. I arranged the house with little furniture handmade by my grandpa, and filled it with anthropomorphic animal figurines called Sylvanian Families.

It’s impossible to count how many hours I spent playing with this dollhouse. It’s one of the main icons of my childhood.

But as the years went on, I became less and less interested in make believe. As is the case with many little girls, my focus turned first to horses, and then to boys – and before I knew it, I was off to college. I always hoped that one day, I would give the dollhouse to my own kids – but until then it sat untouched, usually under a sheet in one basement or another.

In the 13 years since I graduated high school, I’ve moved 18 times. This Saturday, I will move a 19th – this time to a place with very limited storage. This has made me reevaluate just about everything I own, and it’s led to the realization that it doesn’t make sense for me to hold onto the dollhouse. I can’t keep moving it from place to place and finding a spot to keep it, only to let it gather dust – so tonight, I decided to give it to some dear friends who have daughters.

Despite my hope to give it to children of my own one day, it was time to let it go – because it’s okay if there’s a gap between the life you thought you’d be living and the life that you actually have.

And when you find the courage to release your grip on the thing you thought was so important, you might just find that the bitter is overpowered by the sweet.

“Is it okay for me to jump?” he yelled.

I watched him pump his legs back and forth, swinging higher and higher until he was holding steady at a significant height. He and his brother had formed their own sort of Olympic game, gaining momentum and then jumping from their swings to see who could fly the furthest and “stick the landing.” Up until now, he’d been playing it safe, never risking too much, choosing to jump only from a reasonable altitude.

But now, I could see him wanting to push the boundaries, to go even higher, to let go even when it might feel crazy – and he wanted me to tell him if it was okay.

I watched him, wild eyed and wild haired, 7-years old and still so innocent. School has brought some exposure to the real world, with all of its ugliness and injustice – but mostly, he is unmarked. The thought of anything bad happening to him wrings my heart down the middle like a dishrag.

“I don’t know, buddy. How do you feel about it?”

He kept pumping his legs; he hadn’t lost any height. He looked at his brother swinging next to him, and then back at me. “Is this too high?”

I thought back to that feeling, swinging high, waiting for the perfect moment to leap. How do you ever know when the time is right? And how do you explain that feeling to someone else – all of the little confirmations that lead to the confident risk? I realized that I couldn’t answer the question for him.

“If you feel like you can jump from that high, then you probably can.”

His face flashed fear, courage, and a beautiful maybe. And with one more pump, he let go of the chains and sailed through the air, landing solidly on both feet, fists in the air.

I’ve never seen a smile so big.

You’ve probably seen this, since apparently it’s been viral for a while.  I don’t know how I missed it, since the internet is my most frequent stomping ground (ugh, depressing).  Anyhow, it was new to me.

Take 10 minutes to watch this short film called “Caine’s Arcade” about a 9-year old boy who built an elaborate DIY arcade out of cardboard.  The ingenuity and cleverness are astounding.

Just when I think that technology is ruining all of our brains, a kid like this comes along and renews my faith in creativity.  Caine’s sweet heart won me over.  His square root security system blew my mind.  And his reaction to the crowd made me cry.

Visit Caine’s website, throw a few bucks at his college fund, and if you’re in L.A., make my day and go buy a Fun Pass.

We live in a predominantly Hispanic area, and I love the kids who live a few doors down from us.  They’re always outside running around in the yard, yelling to each other in Spanish – yet effortlessly switch to English when I walk past.

The other day, I was passing by with the dogs when three little boys ran up to me.  They were basically the human versions of Alvin, Simon, and Theodore.

“Can we pet your dogs?” Alvin asked.

“Sure,” I answered.  “They’re nice – and look, this one only has three legs.”

“WHOA.”  Simon was particularly amazed.

Noticing the two small dogs in their fenced yard, I asked, “What are your dogs’ names?”

Little Theodore answered.

“That one is Peanut, and that one is Luis.  I MEAN, FLUFFY.”

It was kind of the cutest thing that happened all week.

Mission of Hope recently acquired 55 acres of land from the government in Bercy, which is about 30 minutes north of their main campus.  On this land, they are planning to build a school, a medical clinic, a church, an orphanage, and a conference center – a planned community.  Just like Florida!

In the meantime, Mission of Hope is occasionally sending teams to the property to run mobile medical clinics.  People in the community hear that there will be a chance to see a doctor for free, and they flock to what is currently the only building on the property – a cinder block hut – to line up and wait.

Once their paperwork is completed and their vital signs have been taken, they’re sent across the rock lot to have their private appointment in this:

This is a Clinic in a Can – an air-conditioned, single-wide trailer with two consultation rooms and a pharmacy.  After they have been seen by the doctor, they head to the pharmacy to pick up any meds they may have been prescribed, as well as a goody bag filled with soap, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and – if you’re between the ages of 15 and 60 – 6 condoms.  Along with very explicit “how-to” instructions.

I mean, doesn’t it ever cross your mind?  Sometimes don’t you wonder who the lucky illustrator of contraceptive clip-art is?

As for me, I snuggled with this chunker for awhile.

I tested for Bieber Fever by singing “Baby” – and ALL THE KIDS SANG ALONG.

And finally, I peed in a bucket.

I did it just so I could say “I peed in a bucket” on my blog.  Feel free to congratulate me on my moxie.

I have a friend named Emily.  She is all sorts of lovely.

Emily has a little sister named Ellery, and Ellery has a blog.  Or, rather, their mom keeps a blog on Ellery’s behalf.

Please.  Do yourself a favor and treat yourself to What Ellery Says.

My favorites?

This one.

And this one.

Here’s another.

Read this.

And yes, this, too.

I’m so glad that Ellery has things to say on the days when I don’t.

You know how sometimes, a long-forgotten memory will make its way to the surface for no apparent reason?  All of a sudden, the scene is playing in your mind – like a film projector on an old bed sheet, nostalgic home video remembrances of life before you knew the things you know now.

The other day, that was happening for me.  I was seeing our Dalmatian, Princess, and games on what must have been the original Apple computer, and Otter Pops from the freezer in the garage, and the orange tree in our old backyard, and trips to the Dairy Queen on our bikes, and summer nights in the backyard, and getting beaten up by the deaf girl in 1st grade…

WAIT A SECOND.

It totally threw a wrench in my gears, a hitch in my giddy-up.  I was beaten up?  In 1st grade?  By the deaf girl?

(Let it be known that these days, I would absolutely, 100% use the term “hearing impaired.”  But remember, I am being transported back to 1989, when I didn’t know anything about being politically correct.  I also didn’t know that you shouldn’t swallow toothpaste – but I digress.)

The last time I checked, I do not have multiple personalities… yet… and so I’m not quite sure how this memory got repressed for all these years only to surface two decades later.  But just like that, in the middle of my work-day, I was transported back to recess in 1st grade, on the playground at Oster Elementary, scared every single day that the deaf girl from 2nd grade was going to beat me up again.

She had pigtails.  She had hearing aids.  And she had it out for me.

I never got up the nerve to tell anyone.  I just went on being afraid every day.  And I don’t know that I’ve ever been so relieved as the day when a playground aid caught the little shrew in the act, and made sure she never touched me again.

Hey, if I was forced to re-live this story, then you can be sure that I would subject you to it, too.  What else is a blog audience for?

And two more nubbins:
-    I fly to Seattle tonight.
-    My East Nasty of the Week column will be resurrected next week.

Yesterday, I got some fantastic news.

Tyler got the Red Ribbon at preschool!

I can’t really remember what that means, except that only one kid gets it at the end of every day.  It has to do with some sort of virtue, I think – like sharing, or listening, or helping, or being kind.  And the Red Ribbon is a very big deal.  It’s an honor.

This was Tyler’s first time getting the Red Ribbon.  He was so excited and proud.  And this auntie’s heart is bursting.

I can’t wait to see him in Kansas for his 4th birthday at the end of the month – especially to watch him ride his tricycle with his short little legs.  (SQUEEEEEEE he is so cute!!!!)

- – - – - – - -

I don’t quite know how to segue between a preschooler and an R-rated movie – but has anyone else seen “Atonement”?  I watched it over the weekend, and cannot stop thinking about it.  A raw and brutal story set to the percussive rhythm of typewriter keys, it has left me speechless.

You must see it – that is, if you’re okay with some very sexual scenes and graphic violence.  Which… apparently, I am.

I dare you to try to convince me to see “Star Trek,” you nerd Joey.

When I was in third grade, I had a pseudo, almost, totally-not-but-kind-of-but-no-not-really full-blown crush on Dylan Schoo. He was so cute. He was so nice to me. He lived around the corner, and took piano lessons from my mom. And we were in the same class, consistently, all the way through elementary school – so when Valentine’s Day 1991 rolled around, deep down, I wanted to give him a special note.

I bought the box of “Beauty and the Beast” cards, and carefully sorted through, choosing the harmless gender-neutral ones for the boys that I didn’t care about, the cute lovey ones for my best friends, and finally, the perfect one for Dylan.

It featured Lumiere:

And it said “You make me want to sing!”

I wrote his name, and then signed my own.

But right before class, I chickened out. I couldn’t tell DYLAN that he made me want to SING. That is so EMBARRASSING! So I quickly scratched out “sing,” and replaced it with “puke.”

But wait! It gets better! Right before we were supposed to hand out our valentines, I felt bad. Because Dylan didn’t make me want to puke – I liked him! – and that was rude. So I scratched out “puke” and wrote “laugh.”

Nice and non-committal. Could be interpreted in a variety of ways, whichever would be most convenient for me at the time. “You make me want to laugh!” because I think you’re funny. “You make me want to laugh!” because you’re such an idiot. “You make me want to laugh!” because… will you marry me?

If you are looking for beautiful valentines to give to your loved ones in 11 days, my ultra-talented friend Anna Marie of Love+Luck Design has created some whimsical, handmade cards. And she, being such a wonderful giver, is offering a complimentary card to whoever wins MY CONTEST!

What is this contest, you ask?

Well, here it is. Leave a comment telling me about someone that you love or appreciate. Your husband. Your wife. Your nephew or niece. Your roommate. Your co-worker. Your crush-who-will-not-be-named. Your best friend. Your dog. The boy who scans your groceries at Whole Foods. Tell me a little something about them. And when the comments close tomorrow night, I will use the Random Integer Generator to choose which commenter wins the card.

Then I’ll put you in touch with cute Anna Marie, who will send you the card of your choosing!

And by the way, Dylan and I are still friends.