I was always fascinated with my mom's dresser-top.
A multitude of sweet, slithery, grown-up things were there - lipsticks, silk scarves, earrings and necklaces, favorite jewelry, perfumes. All the things little fingers itch for and are summarily denied. She tucked old photographs and letters in the corners of the mirror, as well - I remember brushing my hair with her brush and reading a letter my grandmother wrote her about being homesick at college - things I really didn't understand yet, but that sounded worldly and mysterious.
Far back in the corner (or else hidden in her top drawer) was always a horse, scratched and beloved.
She had two, back from when she and her little sister used to play Derby in the back yard, currying and clicking their tongues to their plastic steeds. While she was never raised around horses, growing up in the Bluegrass State made every little girl a budding horsewoman.
The company that fueled many of these dreams and made the statues? Breyer.
This year, we've decided Rosey is old enough for her first horse-dreams and found her a Breyer of her own.
I think Mom will like that.