Welcome home, old friends

On my way home from an early morning haircut today, I passed by a yard sale and I, of course, had to stop. I admit it, I have a bit of a yard sale addiction. I looked at a few knickknacks here and there before spotting it...sitting there in a box on the ground. The Fisher Price house...THE Fisher Price house, the one from my childhood. The one I spent countless hours with, playing on the floor, creating little stories in my head. And all the little people...the "Fisher Price People," as I always called them. They were all there, even the dog and the baby (oh that baby, seeing her just sealed the deal).

"How much?"(As if I cared.)

I bought the set, the whole she-bang, brought it home and gave it to the girls who devoured it with play more quickly than I could grab the pieces from their hands to scrub them in a big bowl of hot soapy water.

I'm glad they love the house...and I love that house, too. I love it like it was the actual house that used to be mine (also sold off at a yard sale, though many years ago). Like the Strawberry Shortcake dolls that I actually did save and that Lucy plays with every day even though she puts Blueberry Muffin's hat on Lemon Meringue and breaks all sorts of other rules that I never would have imagined I'd let her break. What the heck, I love to see her happy and that's all that matters.

But even if they didn't like the house at all (and the mini-bus! It even had the mini-bus!), it wouldn't have mattered to me. After all, who I really bought it for is me...because it is really, really nice to welcome my old friends home.