E meets Mandy

Today I decided to give my daughter my vintage, Fisher-Price My Friend Mandy doll (circa 1977). My mom had saved it all these years (and My Friend Jenny, the brunette, who belonged to my sister). Mom also saved Mandy’s shiny-red carrying-case and all these amazing hand-sewn clothes on tiny plastic hangers. Mandy’s white shoes were even neatly tucked into the little cardboard drawer.

 

And, oh, Mandy’s smell. She still has it. It is a wonderful scent – which may actually be some kind of carcinogenic, Made-in-Taiwan plastic – but a delicious, nostalgic smell nonetheless. 

I had saved her in her red box until the right moment. (I am a saver; a dyed-in-the-wool, delay-of-gratification sort.) For some reason, Mandy called to me today from the basement shelves (sorry, it’s going to get all ‘Toy Story’ up in here). It was not a holiday or E's birthday. I just felt compelled. And it was magic. E fell in love before I even unhinged the brass clasp on the box. Toy-Story-esque dialogue poured out of my mouth… a bunch of stuff about how much I had loved her all those years ago and now it was time for E to take care of her the way I had. Not scripted, I promise!

They are fast friends. And I tried not to let it creep me out that my daughter looks A LOT like my childhood doll. They have the same shade of blonde hair, same style, same blue eyes. Was my Toy-Story moment about to turn Chucky on me? ;)

E wanted to sleep with Mandy and all her trappings but we ultimately agreed on just Mandy. When I tucked them into bed tonight, I swear that Mandy looked happier than I have ever seen her.