There's Something Special About Tradition

This is the story of a beautiful doll house. It used to be mine. My dad made it, he painted it with a blue roof and blue shutters on each window. My mom crocheted rugs and teeny tiny curtains for each room. My grandfather made handmade doll furniture like a hutch with tiny little knobs and opening doors and drawers.

It lived in my parents attic for the last 20ish years. It recently came back down, got a fresh coat of paint, a couple new pieces of furniture and some very special new doll people. And most of all it has two tiny new owners. One of which won't be allowed to play with it for quite a while, at least until we can be sure she won't put the miniture little cups and saucers in her mouth.
Harper's excitement when she saw the dollhouse for the first time was priceless. She loves it and was totally ready for it. It's awesome to see such an important part of my history live on.

It turns around so we can protect Paisley from the tiny pieces. It's beautiful from the front. I'll get a picture and add it.