American Girls…

No, not the song… which always reminds me of Silence of the Lambs with that chunky chick banging on her steering wheel… I’m talking about MY girls and their dolls…

Seriously? American Girl should sponsor us for this post. Seriously. And I’m not even kidding a little bit.

*disclaimer* I have hated dolls ever since I saw Puppet Master when I was a kid. Chucky didn’t help much either. The fact that I can even stand to have these dolls in my house says something about my awesomeness as a mother.

 

And this doesn’t even count the Bitty Babies, pets, and outfits. Oh, the outfits… with all their shoes. My favorite part of the dolls has to be the outfits… especially the pajamas.

Until we are ready to go somewhere and we can’t find the right shoes for the right outfit. Then? Not so much.

I do love the fact that the only actual toy my girls will play with are these dolls. Not Barbies, or Pet Shops, or even those stupid toy hamsters hiding upstairs. I guess that’s the main reason I don’t mind that there is a bloomin’ fortune in these dolls at my house. There’s my reasoning, folks. At least they play with them. Doesn’t look like a great argument once written down into actual words. I should really work on my justification process.

                     

We even still love the first one we got… the Me doll who looks a bit ethnic for “medium” skin tone with green eyes… Whose hair now makes her look like a Rastafarian.

 

I guess that since most days Abby’s hair looks like a Rastafarian, that means they pretty much nailed it, right?

My girls weren’t into baby dolls when they were little… but right around age 5 1/2 they became interested in American Girls. And for whatever reason, I’m grateful. Because 9 still has a high interest in playing with her dolls.

Yep… I think a paid American Girl Doll review would be right up our alley. Don’t you? ;-)