Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank by Celia Rivenbark Page B
Authors: Celia Rivenbark
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God’s sake, shut up,” I hissed. “She just wants to know how many kid menus to grab.”
“Oh.”
As parents of an only child, we’re used to the “just one child” comment. There’s never any malice in it; at least I don’t think there is.
Occasionally, well-meaning friends will beam and say things like, “I know
she’s
not spoiled!”
Well, of course she is. And if I’d thrown a litter like some of them did, they’d all be spoiled, too. What’s your point?
Very occasionally, someone will tsk-tsk and say things like “I bet you want a little brother or sister” to our daughter, and my jaw just drops.
“I’m forty-six years old! “I
want to scream at them. I mean, sure, I don’t look it. . . . Anyway, where am I supposed to get one of those? It’s not like they’re hanging out on an end cap at Target, and I don’t want to be one of those freaks you read about in the
Enquirer
that had a kid with “borreyed” eggs at age eighty-six or some such.
Besides, there are plenty of folks who should have stopped at one kid. Or none. Like Michael Jackson, who, when he’s not fighting child molestation charges busies himself playing with the Elephant Man’s pelvis.
Frankly, I don’t have the patience for more than one kid. I have plenty of mom-friends who smile dreamily and Madonna-like as their many children crawl on them, draw on the walls, and throw up on the carpet.
Still, it’s surprising when strangers take it upon themselves to comment on the sad state of the only child.
“I had a friend who was an only child,” the lady in line at the drugstore volunteered. “She used to spend all her time talking to her imaginary brothers and sisters, poor little thing.”
Save your pity, toots. One is only the loneliest number in bad Three Dog Night songs. Believe it.
9
Toyland, Joyland
Is That a Bratz Boot in Your Sofa Cushion, or
Are You Just Glad to See Me?
My daughter says that what she really wants for Christmas is an American Girl doll named Nellie. Sophie even circled the picture in the catalog and scribbled
Please!!!
in blue Magic Marker.
For those who don’t know, every American Girl doll represents a specific time in our nation’s history. Nellie, it turns out, is the cute-but-economically disadvantaged waif friend of rich American Girl doll Samantha. She costs $108.
Some waif.
The American Girl catalog is beautifully photographed. Heck, by the time I finished looking at it, I could barely stifle an urge to order Kit, Molly, and especially the plucky Josefina complete with her authentic reproduction New Mexico sleigh bed.
Thank heavens I was reminded by the big, bold letters of the catalog’s very first page: “True friendship is the greatest gift.”
Indeed it is, and that’s why my little girl is going to become good friends with the Nellie look-alike I found on sale for twelve bucks last week and slyly named K-Martha.
K-Martha is absolutely gorgeous and, although she doesn’t come with her own line of books, bedding, and matching human-size clothing, I think she’s going to be a hit.
Although they’re undeniably beautiful, AGs are way too fancy and expensive to play with, so you put them up on a shelf or in a glass case and admire them. K-Martha, on the other hand, you can drag by the feet and use for the cat’s pillow and it’s no big deal.
Each American Girl doll comes with her own bio. Kit, who represents 1934 in our nation’s history, “went from rich to poor overnight but still has spunk!” says the catalog. Oh, those wacky poor kids; at least they make us laugh!
Samantha, the most famous AG, is “a generous girl with a curious nature living in 1904.” She’s the one who just starred in her own TV special, so I imagine the other dolls have taken to hissing and sniping and calling her Miss Thang behind her back.
Molly represents 1944 and, for ninety-eight dollars plus shipping, comes with a “pretend steel penny.” Oh, you shouldn’t have.
If you get
“Oh.”
As parents of an only child, we’re used to the “just one child” comment. There’s never any malice in it; at least I don’t think there is.
Occasionally, well-meaning friends will beam and say things like, “I know
she’s
not spoiled!”
Well, of course she is. And if I’d thrown a litter like some of them did, they’d all be spoiled, too. What’s your point?
Very occasionally, someone will tsk-tsk and say things like “I bet you want a little brother or sister” to our daughter, and my jaw just drops.
“I’m forty-six years old! “I
want to scream at them. I mean, sure, I don’t look it. . . . Anyway, where am I supposed to get one of those? It’s not like they’re hanging out on an end cap at Target, and I don’t want to be one of those freaks you read about in the
Enquirer
that had a kid with “borreyed” eggs at age eighty-six or some such.
Besides, there are plenty of folks who should have stopped at one kid. Or none. Like Michael Jackson, who, when he’s not fighting child molestation charges busies himself playing with the Elephant Man’s pelvis.
Frankly, I don’t have the patience for more than one kid. I have plenty of mom-friends who smile dreamily and Madonna-like as their many children crawl on them, draw on the walls, and throw up on the carpet.
Still, it’s surprising when strangers take it upon themselves to comment on the sad state of the only child.
“I had a friend who was an only child,” the lady in line at the drugstore volunteered. “She used to spend all her time talking to her imaginary brothers and sisters, poor little thing.”
Save your pity, toots. One is only the loneliest number in bad Three Dog Night songs. Believe it.
9
Toyland, Joyland
Is That a Bratz Boot in Your Sofa Cushion, or
Are You Just Glad to See Me?
My daughter says that what she really wants for Christmas is an American Girl doll named Nellie. Sophie even circled the picture in the catalog and scribbled
Please!!!
in blue Magic Marker.
For those who don’t know, every American Girl doll represents a specific time in our nation’s history. Nellie, it turns out, is the cute-but-economically disadvantaged waif friend of rich American Girl doll Samantha. She costs $108.
Some waif.
The American Girl catalog is beautifully photographed. Heck, by the time I finished looking at it, I could barely stifle an urge to order Kit, Molly, and especially the plucky Josefina complete with her authentic reproduction New Mexico sleigh bed.
Thank heavens I was reminded by the big, bold letters of the catalog’s very first page: “True friendship is the greatest gift.”
Indeed it is, and that’s why my little girl is going to become good friends with the Nellie look-alike I found on sale for twelve bucks last week and slyly named K-Martha.
K-Martha is absolutely gorgeous and, although she doesn’t come with her own line of books, bedding, and matching human-size clothing, I think she’s going to be a hit.
Although they’re undeniably beautiful, AGs are way too fancy and expensive to play with, so you put them up on a shelf or in a glass case and admire them. K-Martha, on the other hand, you can drag by the feet and use for the cat’s pillow and it’s no big deal.
Each American Girl doll comes with her own bio. Kit, who represents 1934 in our nation’s history, “went from rich to poor overnight but still has spunk!” says the catalog. Oh, those wacky poor kids; at least they make us laugh!
Samantha, the most famous AG, is “a generous girl with a curious nature living in 1904.” She’s the one who just starred in her own TV special, so I imagine the other dolls have taken to hissing and sniping and calling her Miss Thang behind her back.
Molly represents 1944 and, for ninety-eight dollars plus shipping, comes with a “pretend steel penny.” Oh, you shouldn’t have.
If you get
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