As the mother of two boys, I have pretty much come to terms that my house was not going to be overrun with dolls. We walk past the Barbie aisle and I am secretly grateful that my house isn't full of pink tiny shoes and miniature clothing ... but then a small realization hits me. My house is completely overrun by dolls ... they just have a different name: action figures.
Oh yes, my boys have so many varieties of action figures they fill up bins in the play area. And while I don't have tiny shoes or small dresses, I have superhero hideouts and a city's worth of vehicles and weapons. And did I mention it's all hard plastic? So, if one is accidentally left behind from his comrades, my foot becomes the ultimate seeker and unfortunately finds it - with a side dish of pain.
So, while I don't have an excuse to play with Barbies in my mid-thirties, I do get to pretend to be Batman, the Green Lantern, Catwoman (yes! They do have female action figures!) and myriad other heroes and villains.
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