Browsing for Barbie accessories at Toys R Us, I am reminded that the average Barbie enthusiast is roughly 56 years younger than me. I’m forever waiting for them to take their tiny hands off of Barbie’s bike or her puppy adventure so that I can play.
I’d call this my second childhood, but I didn’t actually play with Barbies in my first childhood. Well, I did, but only on the sly when my Mom wasn’t watching. When she was watching, we played with stuffed animals, building toys, and chemistry sets. Dolls, particularly fashion dolls, weren’t in our toy boxes.
I had a longish fling with Playmobil figures when my son was younger. We pretended they were for him, but we both knew that Legos were his and the Playmobil were mine. Then, he grew up, and I put everything in storage.
Nine months ago, I dragged them out.
But it still felt as if I were missing . . . something. So, I got a doll. One doll. A small-ish Lottie doll, with a telescope, a blue courduroy jacket, and a tiny map of the stars.
Within 30 days my dining room looked like this
with all manner of dolls, Playmobil figures and Breyer horses bedding down after a long day of adventures.
Proving, once again, that my Mom was probably right about the dangers of bringing dolls, even a single doll, into the house 🙂
(Featured image at the top of this blog is Barbie being comforted by Camellia and Daisy when she realizes she’s generic.)