Don't Stop Believin'

When I was a kid, I was absolutely obsessed with My Little Pony. *Just for clarification, when I was a kid, this was My Little Pony, not this. And sure as hell NOT THIS.* I had dozens of them, and my friends had dozens of them, and we spent hours playing inside, outside and everywhere in between with those little plastic magic makers. (Side note--I've spent many hours in therapy learning to forgive my mother for donating them to Goodwill when I was in college. I'm still working on it. Slowly.)

There was a predecessor to pony mania, a larger version, less squishy and with hair long enough to really style: My Pretty Pony (this. NOT this.). According to this fascinating article about all things Pony (yes, it is quite creepy), I was one of the lucky few to get my five-year-old paws on this treasure--in fact, I'm pretty sure that driving to the toy store and holding the box on my lap in the car is one of my earliest memories. It is a memory made of absolute joy and anticipation; a place where I feel only happiness and excitement for the wonderful things that await me. But's such a afuzzy memory, sometimes I wonder if I made the whole thing up--nobody else seems to remember My Pretty Pony...so of course I was thrilled to remember that the internet can do wonderful things, like confirm distant, foggy memories and assure me that it actually did happen, and I wasn't imagining it.

Hooray for childhood, for plastic toys that make everything magical, and for a pocket sized device that can instantly confirm your most distant, seemingly unreachable memories.

Moondancer, the best Chanukah present ever.