My Mother's Dolls

In recent years, my mom has started a small business of her own in which she sews dresses for 18-inch dolls and sells them to other moms and doll collectors. Since my mom is a committed SAHM (stay-at-home-mother), this business has been a way to generate some extra cash for the family, with my mom still barely ever having to leave the house.
The evidence of my mom’s business is everywhere—when I come home from class, the remnants of the day’s photo shoot (to provide pictures of her merchandise for clients) are usually still set up in the living room, and every time I go into the laundry/sewing room to do some laundry, I behold her collection of “model” dolls, lined up in a row on a small white shelf, their smiling, painted faces showing how happy they are to simply wear the dresses my mom has made that day for them.
Please understand that I’m not trying to condemn my mom by saying this. There are a lot of really commendable things about my mom—for instance, she made a big sacrifice to stay home with us instead of pursuing a more lucrative career, and she currently babysits a 3-year-old completely free of charge, for a single friend while she is at work. And the fact that she watches this 3-year-old in addition to making the doll dresses and homeschooling her two remaining teenagers is quite a feat in and of itself!
I’m also not saying that it’s a bad thing for my mom to make these doll dresses. In fact, the extra income from her sales enabled my family to buy a very awesome camper which we could not otherwise have afforded.
I’m merely saying that whenever I look at those dolls, neatly lined up on the shelf waiting for her next creation, they strike me as a visual representation of the way my mom seems to want her life to be—a perpetual extension of the years when “helping Mommy vacuum” was a big treat, when walking to the playground with Mom was the highlight of the week, and when my sisters and I wore matching dresses and those horrible 90s hairbows. I’ve no doubt that my mom put her entire heart and soul into giving my sisters and me the best possible childhood. But the parenting techniques and general behavior patterns that she exhibits now, while no doubt very effective when we were little girls, are simply no longer applicable or even remotely helpful, now that we are all in high school or college.
I know that, in certain respects, I have a lot to be grateful for. For instance, although I still live at home, my parents have allowed me to attend a local, secular college, and they fully expect that I will get a full-time job outside the home when I graduate. So even if I never get to have a family of my own, I will at least one day have an income of my own. But the fact is that, very often, my life feels just as static, inexperienced, and immature as the life of one of my mother’s dolls. And my sisters and I desperately need my mom to see us for what we are: two almost-adults and two literal adults, whose dreams, needs, and preoccupations extend far beyond choosing between the pink and the purple dress.

-Violet