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My little girl’s “daughters”.

While my daughter was at soccer practice, (my off night for carpooling) I was in charge of “babysitting” her imaginary family. Yes, the standing sister is a vintage doll my parents conveniently discovered at a garage sale a while ago. I helped my daughter give her a makeover Friday night. Her look was a little too Betty Boop meets Mrs. Cunningham. (Amazing what an elastic band can do.) I keep wanting to call her Pat Benatar, but she has no clue who that is and she’s already annoyed by the fact that I use the word “hip” so frequently. The big sister is apparently 10 years old, my daughter says, but not quite old enough to babysit. Try folding five loads of laundry and fixing dinner while keeping four dolls from being trampled by a hyper active two-and-a-half-year-old Golden Retriever. They can’t exactly help me set the table or put clothes away, but I have to say, they’re refreshingly quiet.

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