It caught fire when we lit some candles on Christmas Eve a few weeks ago. The Barbie Dreamhouse didn’t burn down…completely. “Why is Paulina screaming like the Barbie Dreamhouse is burning down again?” She waves her glowing pink fairy wand that has a star tip in my face. The chiffon buckles angrily, and I wonder if she’s been sitting on the floor with her dolls for the past half hour. Only this one’s wrapped in her purple fairy dress that has a pair of net wings attached at the back. She knows I would never really do it, but the threat works every time.Īt that moment, the exact likeness of the five-year-old on my legs comes walking through my door. Immediately, I stop tickling my baby sister, sit down on the bedside, and put her on my lap, giving her one of those you-do-that-and-I-rip-off-your-stuffed-bunny’s-head looks. “Angel! Angel, stop! I’m gonna pee my pants!” A LAUGHING BUNDLE of strawberry blond hair squirms on my bed.
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