Elizabeth Greenwood is 15 now, and presumably too old for Polly Pockets. (I bet she still played with them when no one was looking.) So, in an act of extreme generosity she gave the entire collection which included no less than a bajillion microscopic shoes, to Esther.
I like to complain about them a lot.
I mean, they make a HUGE mess. H.U.G.E. You can not even imagine how long it takes to clean up that many itsy bitsy shoes. Not to mention the four hundred and fifty thousand kagoogle shirts, pants, skirts, hats, and purses.
Polly Pockets are the stuff that crazy mother's are made out of (and legos- but that is another post).
(When no one is looking, I sneak into Esther's room and play with them.)
But, Esther loves them, and so, I take a deep breath, and try not to curl up and die when I walk past her room and see "Polly Pocket Mall" look like polly pocket tornado after-effects.
Sunday afternoon when I went upstairs (and no, I wasn't going to sneak into Esther's room to play), I noticed a strange sight:
Yep. That's my boys, playing with Polly Pockets. I had to sneak to take a picture because...
Well, what boy would want his mom taking a picture of him playing Polly Pockets????
Apparently this one.
"Look Mom! Cute, right?"
"You realize I have a camera, right?"
"Take a picture of this one!"
"You are a strange child."
"What? Esther plays with my hot wheels."
"You better clean up those its-bitsy-teeny-weeny-drive-your-mommy-crazy-shoes."