Photo by Jenny Stein
A year ago a friend asked if I would take on the organization of a special gift our church gives out every June to five year olds. For many years they have been plastic dolls with long, handmade dresses. Many of the sewers put in great detail, with pinafores, aprons, hats and embroidery. I said yes.
I had wondered about the possibility of switching to soft Waldorf type dolls, but did not want to rock tradition in the first go round. But in February I found out the plastic dolls were no longer available. This was my chance to try something new.
It surprised me how quickly I found a score of women and nine children willing to put in the time to learn how to make a wool filled doll. We met weekly through March and April, cramming one more thing into bursting spring schedules. Night after night they showed up, and our little lumpy heads gradually grew bodies, arms, legs, faces and hair. Other people helped fund the project, bringing yarn and cotton knit in a variety of skin tones. People had progressed at slightly different paces, but most of the dolls were almost finished at our final meeting. We took pictures and celebrated the birth of these sweet creations.
In May I nudged people to finish up and bring me their dolls for wrapping. June slithered in and half of the babies were still unaccounted for. I emailed and sent messages to people asking if they were done, and there were a smattering of explanations for the delay. The picnic where we give them is in five days and I still need eight more dolls.
One woman finally spelled it out for me.
"When we met every Tuesday, I made time for it. But once I was on my own it slipped through the cracks." One woman sent a sad email saying she believed the doll, carefully kept in a plastic bag, had been taken out with the trash. She was sorry but there would be no doll from her this year.
There is something to be said for putting things on the calendar. Good intentions are abundant enough, but may not have enough elbow room between dishes and soccer practice. Next year we will keep meeting until the last little babe is dressed.
This week we began a summer marriage group. It will of course leap frog around vacations and day trips to the shore. But every Thursday from now until the leaves change we will have marriage group for whomever shows up. I know it is often the only time John and I sit next to each other for two consecutive hours, curbing that irresistible urge to talk about the kids.
By the way my friend emailed again. She found the lost doll in a basket of unfolded laundry.
