Magic

When I was little I imagined that all of my dolls were real. They each had personalities, names, and preferences. Some liked to sit on the shelf, some the bed, and others preferred the closet (because their faces were made of glass and creeped me out). As I got older, I felt guilty when I decided my bed only needed one doll, I didn't really need to keep all of them, and finally becoming a hand-me-down (read: my sister stole most of them). They were my friends and I loved them with all of my heart.

Now that I have my own daughter, I wonder if she'll give her stuffed pals names and personalities. She has an indescribable attachment to a stuff bear we named Beverly. At some points in the day, she'll stop whatever she was doing, from across the room, head as fast as she can over to Beverly and throw herself on it. She'll lay there with the biggest smile ever for a few seconds and talk to her, then get up and carry on with her day.

I wonder if good old "Beverly Bear" is her "Grizzly"... (who is still perched in my room, much to Dave's dismay).