A three year old's "dream"?

Call me crazy, call me dramatic, call me whatever you want...but this is my story and I'm sticking to it.

I officially vetoed the Barbie Dream House. That's right. My husband came home with the giant cardboard box displaying the luxury town home, complete with working elevator and mini spa. Three glorious stories of pink, purple, and everything in between. My initial response was, "Wow." After all, I never played with Barbies when I was a kid. I much preferred playing in the dirt and riding my bike rather than some silly stick of plastic with blond polyester hair. Maybe I didn't get it. Was I missing something? In each room of the house they showed a Barbie sitting somewhere, either on the phone, or in the bathtub...looking gorgeous in her sparkly Barbie-esque outfits.

Then it hit me. This so called "Dream House" looks like the Playboy Mansion. Over my dead body is my 3 year old going to play with this thing. Was this really the image I wanted to teach my little girl? One of lounging around on a purple leopard couch, waiting for dumb ass Ken to call? I don't think so.

Our kids grow up so fast as it is. Why should I rush the Barbie revolution when she still loves to play house with her baby dolls? This "Dream House" was certainly no place for a family, let alone a baby. With that, I requested a swift return to the toy store.

Now, I'm sure there will come a time when Elizabeth begs for this Barbie Dream House. But that time isn't now, and I'm sure as heck am not going to rush there.