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I was sorting through an old box that had been sitting far too long, waiting for its turn to be organized, when my fingers felt a familiar soft fuzzy edge. There was no surprise, only a tug at my heart and a smile of remembrance, when I pulled out a well used piece of cut up file folder.  Thirty years ago, I started making simple cloth dolls stuffed with rags for a local antique shop. Cereal boxes, gift boxes with graphics that I liked, and basic file folders were my go to materials for my doll bodies. True to myself, my work was always scattered around the table and evidently too much of a temptation for my oldest son, seven years old at the time, to resist helping out his mom with her creativity. While I was tending to his younger brother, he lent a hand with drawing in a perfectly primitive face and my favorite part, the heart. He drew a heart and I loved it.  That day I wrote the date of his scribbles on the pattern piece, retired it, tucked it safely away as a keepsake, and prompt

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