My girl is the one in striped navy tights under blue jeans. With a teal corduroy skirt, short-sleeved purple unicorn shirt and a sweater her grandmother knitted two years (read: sizes) ago. Her socks are mismatched (unless they were designed to be worn mismatched, in which case she refuses to wear them at all.) Occasionally she wears a 24-month shirt that wound up in the wrong dresser. Most ensembles include one or more pieces of flair from the dress-up basket. And her hair is perpetually unkempt because she refuses pigtail holders, barrettes and headbands.
None of this bothers me in the least.
But this week we pulled the doll house out of storage. Among the M&D posable dolls are eight or ten (read: nine) vintage strawberry shortcake dolls. Now, 2008 lacks the dexterity and patience to dress them, so I do as I'm told for copious amounts of wardrobe changes.
This week we celebrated Blueberry Muffin's birthday with a surprise party in the pool, which used to be the bowl we used for popcorn. Everyone needed to swap clothes for the party.
I cringed when Blueberry Muffin wound up in Lime Chiffon's hat. I didn't balk when 2008 paired a cute pair of green polka-dotted capris with one of the baby's striped pajama shirts and proclaimed it Blueberry's perfect ensemble. I did entertain a gripping inner argument about whether anyone else should wear Strawberry Shortcake's brown shoes, though I didn't needle 2008 about putting tights under those plastic shoes so they would fit.
I fought pretty hard to let 2008 direct our play time. (And I waited until 2008 and 2010 moved on to the music table before I redressed the dolls in the proper attire. About some things, apparently, I am particular.)
I blog rarely, because I'm writing books. When I do blog, I focus on writing, friendship, family, and books. Because my family's best nicknames are private, I use their birth years for shorthand: