This is a story about a doll under the stairs. I promise. But before we get there, let me explain.We’ve been living in a hotel since February 17th. That’s right, two adults, four kids, one cat, and 739 square feet of fun. (Yeah. Fun.) I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Living in a hotel with these people is not fun. We stumble all over each other. We get mad. We make more messes than rock stars. And we get real tired of each other.
Let’s just say my previous fascination with tiny homes is gone. Forever.
How Did This Happen?
In mid-February, a fierce winter storm blew through Texas, causing frigid temperatures and frozen pipes. Texas, as a general rule, isn’t really fit for temperatures under, say, 65 degrees. Anything in the 50s brings forth scarves and gloves and wool hats.
So 14 degrees?
It wasn’t good. The worst part was the hours and days without reliable electricity. We lost our power on the early morning of Monday, February 15th, and it didn’t come back on for 36 hours. The first time. But it was that first time that did the most damage.
There’s nothing like seeing water pouring into your living room and kitchen from the air conditioning vents or discovering the ceiling on the floor of your master bedroom.
When all was said and done, only one room out of the entire two-story house and attached garage didn’t sustain any damage. One room. What came next was a frantic dash to contact our insurance company, box up our entire house and put it in storage, choose one suitcase full of stuff for each of us, and take refuge in a hotel room.
And wait. Lots of waiting. We’re still waiting, in fact, as I write this on June 6th in a hotel room.
But a couple of months ago, when the craziness really started to get to us, I had an idea.
The Idea Went Something Like This
One day while beginning the climb up four flights of stairs–yes, I could take the elevator but then I’d have to ride it with other people and it’s just…awkward. Oh, yeah, and exercise. Or something.–I noticed a small door right beside the staircase. Immediately, I was intrigued.
I took a quick look inside and snapped a picture. It was a dark little room, bare and forgotten looking. An idea began to form.
The next day, I showed the door to my thirteen-year-old son, Ben, who agreed to go inside. He took a few more photos for me and we discovered that in the back of the room, there was another room–darker and a little hidden. This was probably not a place the hotel staff wanted us poking around.
I was giddy. So was Ben.
And that’s where he found her.
We waited a few more days and now armed with two cell phones–one for photos and one for light–Ben climbed through the doorway inside the room under the stairs.
The Doll.
It was cloth with curly blonde hair in an old-timey dress and her eyes. Oh, the eyes were just this side of creepy. The Doll has lead to some good laughs and more than a few shivers of fear.
But I have a confession.
I did it.
No, really. I bought the doll at a thrift store. The moment I saw her and her dead, soulless eyes, I knew. We placed it there in that dark, little room where maybe no one ever goes, arranging her so that she’ll surprise anyone with her presence if they ever do.
This is silly, right? Who does this? Me. I do this.
The last few months have not been fun. Living in this hotel? Really not fun. The kids have had their moments–the meltdowns, the frustration, the not-knowing. The adults have all felt that too. But I wanted to make some good memories despite all that. When the kids grow up, I want them to have stories to tell their therapists about their crazy mother who went the extra mile for a joke.
I guess the moral here is: When life gives you lemons, take the lemons, sell them, buy a creepy doll at a thrift store, and freak your kids out with it. Cost of doll: $4. Cost of the laughs: Priceless.