How can it be that Jenna and I spent TWO DAYS before the holidays came organizing and cleaning out her room, donations for charity and all, only to have to do the exact same thing today? I don't understand. Every time I make a step ahead in teaching her to be diligent about her room, she backslides an acre.
I now blame Polly Pocket. These eensy beensy weensy dolls with their plastique clothing are everywhere I look. Polly's are So Small that you can stick them anywhere--just ask my kid. Today we scoured the house and think we've found all of them that she owns. 23. No child should own 23 polly pockets. And no, she didn't get them all from me. It's what she buys when she earns her own money, and it's what everyone knows she loves.
I have to make it stop.
Really though, the dolls aren't the problem. Have you ever seen a Polly Pocket shoe? Do you know what a polly pocket shoe is? It's smaller than the wing of a lady bug and made out of the same plastique as the clothing, so one can easily slip between your toes and you don't notice it for a month unless you have the highest standards of hygeine. Don't look at me.
Isn't there a toy legislature somewhere telling these manufacturers you can't make doll shoes smaller than the head of a pin? Her Singulair chewables are bigger than these things.
Anyway, we managed to find dozens of Polly clothes, and the 23 dolls, her career clothing (thanks AKMA and Margaret!), and any number of dogs with their own plastique coats, stuffed under her desk, bed, dresser. I am happy to report that the Polly village is now living happily inside of the wooden toybox where the whole lot of them should have been all along.
Next Up: UNDER the bed...
Send help if I don't make it back.
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