It all started innocently enough. I fondly recalled My Little Pony from my childhood, though I was a little too old for them when Hasbro first unleashed them on unsuspecting parents.
So I bought one little DVD. It was marginally annoying, but had a good message and Amelia loved the pony stories.
Then it snowballed into this:
And those are just the ponies, not the accessories!
Now my poor brain has been forced to memorize a multitude of pony names and remember which name goes with which pony.
Sadly I have no one to blame but myself. I bought Amelia a My Little Pony for Christmas. It came in a backpack and had a picnic basket and some other little goodies. I reasoned that she would keep it in her room because of the brothers.
I was delusional.
Her grandparents added to her joy by giving her the My Little Pony hair salon with three little ponies and a variety of hairstyles, rubber skirts (at least those don't hurt when you step on them), a salon chair, some teeny-tiny scissors and a sink and mirror.
Amelia's pretty good about keeping all the little pieces under control, but the ponies themselves are running amok.
The other day I opened one of my cupboards and found that the ponies had moved in.
When I tried to move them out, Amelia said, "But, Mom! They need a place to stay that's warm and dry." I muttered something under my breath about having 2000 square feet of my house, then persuaded her that her dollhouse would do nicely.
A couple days later I found Amelia giving the ponies a bath in the sink. She used about a cup of strawberry shampoo. My bathroom hasn't smelled that nice in a long time!
Oh well, as long as they don't poop in my house, I guess the whole herd can stay.