In Rosie's world, the desk in her room is a stove and in each of the four drawers, she is baking "sandwiches"- two larger books with a smaller book in between. "One for each of us", she tells me.
It's one where TV remotes are beds for her little people, a 12 pack of paper towels is a bed for her, and the dining room is a splash park to run around in with her swimsuit on.
Animals, little people and My Little Ponies converge on counters and carpets to share ice cream cones made of Duplos.
It's where she's a Princess, I am "Queen Mommy", Steve is "King Daddy" and Buddy is "Prince Buddy". One of my shirts is a princess dress that we clip in the back with a clothespin to not make it as droopy. It's the only "dress" she will wear when she's a Princess.
It's where she's Minnie Mouse, walking around the house with a bag because she is forever trick-or-treating. Red, yellow, blue and green wooden shapes are the "treats" she gives to everyone who crosses her path.
In Rosie's world, house plants are watered with tea kettles and both the vacuum and thermometer, two items she was previously scared of, have voices that suspiciously sound like Mom's, and "talk" to her when they are cleaning the floor or being swiped across her forehead.
It's a world not much unlike the one I imagine I had at one time. That world is just beyond my grasp in my memory- a world where I played with My Little Ponies, Barbies and Matchbox cars for hours.
Watching my daughter, in her own little world, has been one of my greatest joys and surprises of parenting. Sometimes, I try to join in and she lets me. Other times, when the dining room is a splash park, and I tell her the living room is a beach, she explains to me exasperatedly: "No, Mom. It's the living room!" and runs back off to her world.
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