The Doll No One Wants

My neighbor’s little girl got a Bratz doll for Christmas.

Unfortunately, her daughter is not allowed to play with Bratz dolls. You can look at the dolls and see why.

I mean, if you thought Barbies were sexist, check these girls out!  Ewwwww….

Anyways, my neighbor knows I’m more liberal in the toy department than she is (see my previous post about letting my son play with guns), so she asked me if she could pass the Bratz doll on to Little Girl.

Actually, what she said was, “You’re the only mom I know  in the neighborhood who actually lets her daughter play with Bratz, so do you guys want this doll?”

Hmm. That’s a dubious distinction. What do my neighbors really think of me?

Maybe Bratz aren’t the greatest toy on earth, but I really can’t get that worked up about it. I mean, seriously. Play is play. I just don’t think a plastic doll is going to corrupt my daughter’s morals. She’s FIVE.

But I digress.

Pretending I was perfectly comfortable with my label as Neighborhood Evil Mom, and in keeping with my motto to Never Turn Down Free Stuff,  I said, “Sure. we’ll take it.”

We called Little Girl over to show her the doll. “Here. Do you want this?” my neighbor asked her.


Little Girl took one look at it. “No,” she said.

Bratz. Apparently you can’t even GIVE ’em away.


Kids are insulting each other on my driveway



I found this lovely message written in my driveway the other day.

My question is, which of these kids is ACTUALLY stinky poop?

And does decorating the insult with a heart make calling someone “stinky poop” more palatable?


The Story of the Yellow String

Little Girl had a friend from the neighborhood (R) come to play at the house after school.

They ran ahead of me from the playground to the house, and when I arrived they showed me the treasure they’d found on the way.


Oh hurray. A giant tangled ball of yellow string.

Both girls were yelling excitedly, “We’re going to untangle it!”

R added, “And then I’m gonna KEEP it!”

Little Girl nodded judiciously. “She found it first. It’s hers.”

This seemed okay by me, as that meant the string was only in my house temporarily, so I told them to have at it.

Of course, soon they had roped me into helping them –pun intended– and then soon after that they lost interest.

Somehow I ended up left alone for like an hour meticulously untangling yards and yards of string a couple of kindergartners found outside, possibly in the trash.

I know. I have no life.

This is what I was doing when R’s mom came to get her.


She looked at me and said, “Um….”

I said, “The girls are upstairs. I’m just untangling this string they found.”

She said, “Why?”

This was a hard question. “I don’t actually know,” I admitted. “But I’ve been working on it for an hour and I’m not stopping til it’s done.” 

She said, “Oh…kay,” and went to find her child. I kept untangling; I was almost finished!

By the time R’s mom had located her kid, found her shoes and gotten her ready to go, I had the string wound into a nice neat ball.

R came up to politely say thank-you-for-having-me-over, and I handed her the ball of string.

R’s mom’s eyes almost popped out of her head at that.


R said, “Yay! Thanks!”

R’s mom said, “Why are you giving that string to my daughter?”

“It’s hers,” I said.

“It IS!” Little Girl backed me up.

“I found it!” R said, hugging the ball.

“She DID!” Little Girl backed her up.

While the girls exulted over the string ball, R’s mom locked eyes with me over their heads. “You realize,” she said, “that the string you just spent all that time untangling, will be a tangled mess all over MY house in about ten minutes?”

“Yep!” I said cheerfully. “Sorry!”


 As they left, R’s mom gritted her teeth at me. “I’ll get you back, you know.”

Oh yeah. I know.