My husband returned from a recent trip with 2 Groovy Girls. One for Pea and one for Coco. Both girls went nuts for them, and have since been carrying them around everywhere, referring to them as their “babies.”

Fast-forward about one week. We were at the local mom & pop toy store, where Pea was choosing a special treat. I love this store immensely, they just have the best selections of really cool toys: wooden toys, toys from other countries, classic children’s books, etc. And so I always know that we’re going to find something fantastic.

And then, Pea found her special treat. And I had to pick my jaw up off of the floor. And hold my tongue. It was one of those Bratz dolls. Now, Barbies I will tolerate. Disney Princesses? I will also tolerate. But the Bratz dolls? No. Not going to happen. First off, I can’t stand the name. Bratz? Ugh. And second of all, they look like teen-agers who need a little more parental supervision, to me. And a lot less make-up. And yet they are always on the lowest shelves, and seem to be geared towards much younger girls. Teen-agers, last I checked, do not play with dolls.

So I said, “no.” And that’s all I said, and steered her towards a much more appropriate area. And there, we hit the jack-pot. Lots of Groovy Girls, and outfits to go with them. Pea had a field-day picking out a new get-up for her girl, and I felt much better about the age-appropriate doll.

Plus, now that she has her Groovy Girl, the Polly Pockets have been put away. I’m hoping for good. Because if I’m asked one more time, while driving the car, to put a rubber dress on a tiny doll with hard plastic limbs, I’m going to throw it out the window. And that’s another benefit of Groovy Girls… they can be dressed, in all of the velcro glory, by a three-year old!