My daughter sits Indian-style in front of her little plastic doll house, the spiral staircase winding pink. It's a cheap thing, the type of toy I turned my nose up at in my smug, pre-parenthood days. To her, though, it marks a rite of passage and a point of pride. It was a gift from the imaginary fairy that stole her pacifier in the night when she crossed the threshold of three, walking over that imaginary line between baby and big girl. Hers is a house that doesn't discriminate: the naked … [Read more...]