My girls have always loved dolls, probably because I love dolls.
I love dishes and tea sets and fake food of all sizes and kinds. Sometimes I buy toys just for me.
I was slightly disappointed when my kids grew up and didn’t want toys for Christmas. They wanted boring stuff like clothes and technology.
Sometimes, we bought our teenagers toys, anyway. We want them to always have a spirit of youthfulness and to be able to laugh and have fun.
Just because you’re 18 doesn’t mean you’re too old for a crazy, laughing Elmo doll. Yes, my husband did buy that for Bethany when she turned 18, and yes she did love it. She loved her other presents better, probably, but will always have that amazing memory of getting the coveted and popular Elmo doll, for her 18th birthday.
We began our Corn Cob Doll lesson by discussing Our Favorite Things.
The girls narrowed it down to one doll for a picture.
The good thing about kids growing up and not wanting toys anymore
is they have kids who want toys.
This is a pic of the lovely Brookelyn with her favorite dolly. (Her mommy is my oldest daughter.) She is such a good mommy to her dolly.
This is the baby of the family, Rebekah, but don’t call her that, with her favorite baby.
It was a gift from a dear friend, Romance, because she loves toys, too, and thought all the little girls in her life needed a dolly that ate real food, pooped and peed.
Yes, Baby Alive poops and pees. Brilliant marketing strategy.
The little packets of food and little packages of diapers are outrageously expensive, but outrageously fun.
Beka has to use cloth diapers some of the time. We eventually will learn to make our own baby food. After all, she grew up on homemade baby food, it’s good enough for her dolly, too.
I can’t fathom Laura playing with a Corn Cob Doll.
I can’t fathom Ma not making her a rag doll sooner.
Sometimes I have a hard time walking a mile in their lace-up shoes.
We weren’t sure if we were supposed to dry the cob with the corn on or off.
We opted for eating the corn off.
The first time I bought corn, I forgot it in the fridge. When we remembered to cook it, we forgot to save the cobs. I bought more. I was determined to finish the project.
We shucked the corn.
I boiled it.
We ate it.
Grandbaby Maddelyn loved the corn and gnawed and gnawed and gnawed.
She reminded me of my Aunt Hedi, the family record holder for eating 12 cobs of corn at a family reunion.
Aunty might have some serious competition soon.
Since the corn cobs weren’t dry, we decided to make a different kinda’ doll.
We used large beads, dowels and chenille stems, although I have called them pipe cleaners my entire life.
We added the corn husks and just tied it on.
We thought corn silk would make adorable hair.
They were pretty cute, until they shriveled up and looked ridiculous. It might work better to dry the husks flat in books, then try gluing them on the dowels.
STRIKE ONE.
(If you want to make authentic corn husk dolls, check out Native American Life Living Art.)
I scraped the rest of the corn off the cob, hoping it would dry sooner.
I left these on the counter, clearly marked, of course.
They didn’t dry well, so I tried something else.
I twisted wire around them and hung them outside to dry.
I forgot about squirrels.
I brought the only cob in the house, put it on the counter, and forgot about the children.
Thinking they were “helping me” they threw it out. (Now you know why I labeled the cobs the first time.)
After digging through the garbage bags, yes, we did that, I’m a mighty determined woman, we found the lone Survivor.
T
There ya’ go.
The cob that survived the Squirrel Attack
and the Kitchen Cleaning Frenzy.
Beka is clearly excited about the long-awaited day.
Really.
I’m going to play with a corncob.
I can hardly wait.
Trying to make it a little more enticing, she picked out a favorite vintage handkerchief.
We WERE going to finish this project.
It wasn’t fun.
We couldn’t even pretend it was fun.
The instructions were to play with this doll only for one day.
After school we were running an errand and Beka wanted to bring a doll. I reminded her of her assignment, and asked if she would bring the Corn Cob Doll.
The look on her face let me know it would be a humiliation beyond comprehension, ya’ know the kinda’ family tale of woe the kids repeat behind your back for generations to come.
“You think that’s bad, how about the time Mom made me bring a Corn Cob Doll everywhere I went? I am scarred for life.”
We left the Corn Cob Doll and grabbed Baby Alive. The cob ended up back in the garbage can. I should have given it back to the squirrel, he would have appreciated it.
Weeks of planning, preparation and it was
STRIKE TWO
for Corn Cob Dolls.
Even though the dolls were failure, the lesson wasn’t.
How can you NOT be thankful for the bountiful blessings we have when staring into the face of one pathetic corn cob that is compost/garbage to us, but a toy to a previous generation?
How can you not admire little Laura who tried really hard to play with her pathetic doll and be thankful and not jealous of Mary?
If the essence of thankfulness
burns into Rebekah’s heart and mind,
the project won’t have a
STRIKE THREE.
Prairie Momma 