Coming from someone who thought their house would be full of train sets, army guys and fake power tools with a work bench by the time he was 30, having a house full of Barbies has been hard to accept. My oldest daughter absolutely loves them, and can usually be found bellied up to her doll house where she lets her imagination run wild. When I say run wild, I mean WILD. I’ve often caught myself just sitting there in amazement while listening to the stuff she comes up with. Like the other night when she scolded Chelsea for not going to bed right away and said she couldn’t have a snack. Or the time that Ken wouldn’t take a bath and he had to sit in time out all day. Or when Barbie spilled her milk all over the table and ruined supper. She really gets into play time and while we try to not laugh and keep our snickers to ourselves, it’s hilarious to watch a three year old attempt to parent some plastic figurines.
The other thing that really baffles me is why do these things always have to be naked? I think it’s virtually impossible for my daughter to keep a set of clothes on her dolls for longer than 10 minutes? It’s like a big game to her. Sweetly coerce dad into helping put on a new outfit (the fourth one in 30 minutes), then yell that he did it wrong, just so she can rip it off (even though it was on perfect). Okay, that’s not always true, as my wife has caught me putting on dresses backwards — both on Barbies and our girls. In my defense, some of those dresses are really confusing. Bottom line, I have naked Barbies strewn about my house and no matter how hard I try to ignore it or convince her to get clothes on them, I’ve just come to accept that until she outgrows them, it’s just going to look like we have a toy nudist colony living with us.