I actually wasn't going to give my daughters Barbie dolls.
I wasn't. I was going to be firm on this.
But then, when Anne-with-an-e was three, she got one as a gift.
It was all over.
So, yes, I have allowed Barbie. Barbie with disclaimers (as mentioned in this post.) As Anne says, "Mom, if Barbie were a real woman, she would be a freak of nature."
As long as they keep this in mind, I'm okay with them playing with freaks of nature.
We have Veterinarian Barbie, and Renaissance Barbie, and Glinda-the-Good-Witch Barbie and Barbie with a dog that poops (I cannot believe I allowed that one, but someone caught me in a weak moment and I fancied I was teaching a lesson in personal finance when I said something like, "Well, it's your money and if you really think you want to spend it on Barbie ...." when I should have said, "There is no way on God's green earth that you're buying that thing.")
And yes, there are more Barbies here, but I won't give you the entire list. If I do, I'll start adding up all the money that was spent on them and I'll lament that I didn't do a better job myself on my own lessons in personal finance.
Today, playtime was Ramona's pick. She picked Barbies.
She said of hers:
"This one, Beverly, used to be Princess of the Air. And she was snooty. But, then she got married and had babies and now she isn't snooty any more."
It's nice to know that motherhood has had a humanizing effect on Beverly-Barbie. I like that in a freak of nature.