It probably won't surprise those of you who follow my blog that fairies aren't really my thing. I love the idea of fairies, mind you, especially the somewhat menacing fairies of Irish folklore, but I generally find visual representations of them to be a little too cutesy for my taste (and sometimes weirdly sexualized, like those hoochie-mama fairies who lounge on toadstools wearing bikinis and looking like they just stepped out of the pages of Maxim). But recently, my godmother's husband asked me to make a doll for my Godmother's birthday. (When family and close friends ask, my "no custom orders at this time" dictum becomes a little wobbly.)
And because when I was growing up, my Godmother was known as my Fairy Godmother, we agreed that the doll should have wings of some sort and a somewhat fairy-esque vibe (which to me means some diaphanous clothing and whatever else I feel like). I also promised a tiny moose because my Fairy Godmother loves moose, and so I made a little albino moose and very stupidly forgot to take a single photo of him, even though I was quite delighted with how he turned out. But I did manage to snap the fairy a few times, so here she is.
This fairy has flame-red hair, just like her human counterpart did when I was little. So, why is she a Fairy Godmother rather than just the garden variety? She used to help me get ready for school, and let me wear my tutu with a plaid shirt because I refused to be talked into something more sensible. She gave me the best books, and once when I was about six and too small to reach the counters, she spread newspaper out all over the kitchen floor so that I could help make cookies. We mailed the cookies along with a letter and some photos to my Grandmother in England, who later told my FG that when she opened the box left by the postman in the garage, she sat down on a box of old newspapers and cried.
Happy Birthday Auntie Mo!