At Least They’re Reading

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I’ve been working my way S-L-O-W-L-Y through the abyss basement, clearing out things we don’t want or need any longer, setting aside things to sell or donate.  Unfortunately, the Littles discovered one of those boxes set aside. A box of Barbies.

Now, please remember that we’ve been on this parenting gig for over 27 years, so a lot of how we do things has changed as we’ve grown and learned. Some a little, some a lot. One of those things we don’t do anymore is Barbies.  We did, once upon a time. When our oldest was younger. Most of them were gifts from grandparents, but I have to admit to buying a few myself.  It isn’t that I have anything intrinsically against Barbie dolls, but there are just better alternatives out there. And there’s something about seeing naked Barbies laying all over the floor that makes me a little crazy.

But, this doesn’t bother me much. In fact, I’m pretty much okay with it.  This reading to the Barbies.  Each of the Littles, each at their own stage of reading (one not at all, but he makes up really cute stories to go along with the pictures), sitting with dolls nearby, reading to them. This I will take, and even encourage. Because at least they are reading.  The audience doesn’t really matter.