I’ll never forget the day my grandma presented me with a green dollhouse she assembled, painted, and wallpapered herself.
I had no idea this gift was coming my way, so you can imagine my surprise when I peeked under the sheet that disguised my grandma’s creation. Inside were five rooms, each one containing a rug my grandma, a skilled crocheter, handmade. I loved it all immediately.
Though my sister and I had several dozen Barbies between us, I quickly abandoned them to spend time with my beloved dollhouse. I devoted hours crafting story lines about the man, woman, and baby that lived in that dollhouse. (Thanks to my babysitter’s devotion to soap operas, they were never lacking in drama and suspense.)
I was fortunate enough that my local mall had a miniatures store stocked to the brim inventory. It was easily my favorite shop in the entire complex—over a period of several years, I gave it nearly every one of my allowance, birthday, and First Communion dollars. Being in there felt like entering another world where a kid could dream and be in control of an entire home.
Here, I could make the sort of decisions I couldn’t make in real life. Stock the kitchen exclusively with Coke and cookies? Sure! Take the house back to the olden days with an antique sewing machine and a phone from the 1920s? Why not! This was my little world, and the sky was the limit.
As I transitioned out of girlhood, I started spending more time on after school sports and activities and less time with my dollhouse. Eventually, it got stashed in the attic, where it sadly collected dust for many years.
It wasn’t until I was 34 that I unearthed it. As I dusted it off and carefully pulled each miniature out of its tissue paper, I felt like I was being reunited with an old friend. Memories of rainy days spent inside decorating my dollhouse came flooding back. In some cases, I even remembered buying a particular miniature.
I was older, but my dollhouse gave me the same sense of wonder and joy. I decided then and there it would never get relegated to the back of an attic ever again.
That’s my story—what’s yours? Are you like me, someone who reignited their passion as an adult? Or did you discover the magic world of miniatures later in life? Let me know in the comments below!