Kids, dogs, trees, old people, young couples, martini bars, dive bars, and the occasional homeless guy... they all weave together into a chaotic charm that stole my heart a decade ago.
On any given day, I might feed six or seven kids lunch, and then have them vanish into a house down the block for Popsicles. The sidewalks are littered with every two-wheeled contraption ever to come out of Target, plus a couple kid-invented hybrids and dumpster diving gems.
This summer we got a new addition.
Daniel.
He lives two blocks away, and you can hear him from three blocks away. He shows up regularly, eyeing my produce ("Yes, you can have another tomato Daniel") and bringing curious offerings (screw-off jar lids, baby bottles, a car tire complete with hubcap.) He calls me Lizzy and sees no reason to knock before entering.
Yesterday I was sitting at my desk in the front room, typing a work e-mail while the kids and dog invented games on the porch swing.
"Lizzy, Lizzy! Miss? Oh, there you are. Look what I brought!"
And there she was.
All 5'2" of her fully inflated. Long blond hair. Fully functional orifices (front and back!) Curiously paraplegic looking legs. All in Daniel's 8-year-old arms.
Pause.
"All right, Daniel, go on outside now." I took the doll (Naomi, because I think she needs a name, poor naked thing) and put her in the closet.
Outside I could hear the boys debating. "Should we destroy her?" "No, we should put clothes on her and then destroy her!"
I knew I should be horrified, but I leaned against the closet door and laughed so hard I cried.
I knew I should be coming up with a plan (Poke her with a pin and put her in a dumpster? Carry her to Daniel's house and tell whatever adult happened to be around that Daniel said he found her in a tree? Sell her on Craigslist?), but all I did was send my friends picture messages from my phone.
Thirty-six hour later, Naomi is still in the closet.
And I really have no idea what I'm supposed to do about her.
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