Barbie is dreaming big

Last week I had finally gotten over to the consignment store to drop off some clothes, but their computers were down and they couldn't give me the money right away. So yesterday, we again made the trip over there and as soon as we walked in the door, my girls saw *IT*.

*IT* is a 4' tall Barbie mansion. With an elevator. And they both immediately declared that their lives would be worthless if they did not own this Barbie mansion. Watching L stand on tiptoe to peer into the minuscule "swimming pool" on the balcony, I was transported back to my own childhood and the Christmas I received my own Barbie townhouse that was taller than I was with the real working elevator. The unbridled joy and the hours of play that enormous piece of furniture brought was the stuff of dreams. Between the Barbies and the Star Wars action figures, that townhouse saw a lot of action. Sometimes the Star Wars people were Barbie's kids and sometimes the townhouse was transformed into a battle station where epic wars were played out on its pink floors. Yep, good times.

The townhouse, not being anything more than plastic and cardboard, eventually was destroyed. You know, like the Death Star. But I did not rest until I had convinced my parents that my life would be worthless without it, so they caved and bought me another one.

So I checked out this new Barbie townhouse with it's 3 floors and decided that the construction was a bit more sturdy on this one (probably because it isn't an "official" Barbie item made by Mattel) and it was much cooler than mine was. Maybe it was the 70s psychedelic decor. In a fit of nostalgia (and a brilliant insight into how this could work in my favor), I offered the girls a deal. They could have the Barbie house *IF* they agreed to sell the Fisher Price dollhouse with its million accessories. They never played with it and we could get rid of one category of toys altogether. They immediately agreed, so they are now the proud owners of a fabulous Barbie townhouse, with a real working elevator. So far, the only epic battle played out in this townhouse has been over the tiny pot of plastic spaghetti. No Darth Vader or storm trooper named Amos involved.

I do have to add that when "Amos" played the part of Barbie's son, the story was that he had such a terrible case of asthma that he had to wear a special protective suit. And why yes, we were imaginative children.