I stared, forlornly, at the dolls I had freed from the plastic wrap. My husband grimaced.

We were both thinking the same thing. Would our future grandchildren be scarred by these motley characters? Forget the grandkids, were we already scarred? With their blank stares, antiquated clothes, and peeling paint, these dolls were the stuff of nightmares. Pink Baby and his exhumed fraternal twin could star in their own horror movie!

I decided to put the dolls away for awhile and think about their fate. Instead of trapping them in layers of Saran Wrap as I’d found them, I opted for the decorative box where I stored some of the other dollhouse accessories I’d purchased.

I arranged them face-up, clustered together like the little (terrifying) family they were. Was I imagining that even the tiny wooden kitchen set and the miniature bookshelf scooched to the far recesses of the box to distance themselves from the frightening dolls? I shuddered and closed the lid.

Out of sight, out of mind didn’t work. I now had a dollhouse family…(that I was kind of scared of); but my dollhouse was still without a family to inhabit its balsa-wood walls. Despite my disappointment, I couldn’t bring myself to toss the dolls in the trash. What if they were antiques? Surely, when their paint was fresh, they had delighted some child somewhere.

Then I remembered Sylvia, one of the stylists at the Blow Dry Hairstyling Bar. One day, while round-brushing my frizzy hair into smooth waves, Sylvia, serious and shy, had confided that she enjoyed painting miniatures when she wasn’t working at the salon. Sylvia was an artist and magician when it came to taming my unruly locks. Perhaps she could transform these dolls into a happy dollhouse family.

Before leaving for my next appointment at the Blow Dry Bar, I transferred the dolls from the storage box into a Ziploc bag, cushioned with a paper towel, and hoped for the best. Once I arrived at the salon, I explained to Sylvia that I had some miniatures that needed a little work. I handed her the plastic bag and watched as she unpacked each gruesome character.

“I love them,” she said, cradling Pink Baby in the palm of her hand. “I can’t wait to paint them.” The family had found their forever home…with Sylvia.

I was back to square one…looking for the perfect family. Little did I know that I was not the only one looking.

For Christmas this past year, my parents, who are in their 70s, gave me, their oldest daughter (age 55) a dollhouse family. It was not just any dollhouse family; it was the perfect family for the dollhouse my dad and my grandfather made for me so many years ago. Now that I had a family, given to me by my family, I was ready to move forward with the dollhouse renovation.

(To be continued…)