Today I was going to pull out a box of crochet toys I made for my daughter when she was little and photograph them. I wanted to write a post about how I started my love affair with making whimsical things. I had it all planned out, and went digging all through the garage looking for said box of nostalgia. To my horror and dismay I couldn’t find it!
A bit of back story before today’s tale of woe is in order. My daughter held on to these toys up until she was a teenager. Then it gets fuzzy as to what happened to said items (and there is some debate about it between us). At some point, her Barbies and all the doll furniture and doll clothes I crocheted went into a box. She claims I took them from her in order to protect them. It could have gone down that way. Then she went to college and eventually moved out. I’m not sure when it happened but I’m pretty sure I asked her to take them or I was going to get rid of them. Here’s where it gets fuzzier.
I asked her about them a few years ago. Something along the lines of “Do you know what happened to your old crochet toys I made you? Did you take them?”