No Whimsy, Sugar (taste_is_sweet) wrote,
No Whimsy, Sugar

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Things not in the manual -- part three of a permanently ongoing series.

A long long time ago (and how much does it age me that I always want to add, I can still remember...) the fine people of Hasbro put out a line of twee cute little PVC ponies called, appropriately enough, My Little Pony.

I'll admit it right now: I kind of wanted one. Unfortunately for my teen self, not only was I technically too old at the time to buy wee little pony dollies without crippling embarrassment (of course nowadays I collect action figures ::cough::), my parents had well indoctrinated me with the notion that strong, capable females never went for cutsey, girly things, especially cutsey, girly things that were big-eyed and decorated in shades of complimentary pastels.

Cut to...a depressing number of years later (okay, I'm 38 as of this June. I can feel 40 breathing on my neck like a greyhound). I'm now the forever-proud and grateful mother of a son who I can say with complete objectivity is the best little boy in the whole wide world. And naturally, because his mommy played with things like Hotwheels cars and Star Wars action figures, my fantastic child has decided that My Little Pony is the coolest toy ever invented.

The upshot is that because the most recent versions of the ponies are kind of terrifying, I've been hanging out on eBay a lot, buying 'vintage' ponies that actually still look generally equine-like, rather than like mutant llamas.

I'll admit here to a vicarious pleasure in being able to buy all the cool Little Ponies that I could never let myself have back in the 80s, but what I hadn't thought about while adding to my son's collection would be that he would expect me to play ponies with him. All the time.

So here I am, a woman who used to dress up her very few Barbies as bounty hunters and turned her Ken-analogue into a computer programmer with cyborg attachments (the dog ate one of his hands and one of his feet--I was forced to be creative), now spending a good chunk of every evening (and every morning, and every bathtime) sitting on the living room floor practicing eight-handed dialogue via such epic adventures as the ponies naming their pets or going to work, going home, getting up and going to work, going home, repeat, repeat, repeat.

This evening Jav changed things up when he had Sundae's pet Koala Sherbert (I have no idea what most of the ponies are called so we just make the names up) ate Pinkie Pie's mane thinking it was eucalyptus leaves, then proceeded to vomit on everything in Ponyville, which degenerated into a very slow game of chase with plastic animals as the ponies tried to catch the koala and take her to the doctor before their town drowned in a sea of vomit. Which, as you might suspect, they never managed to do. It was a tragic saga of bile and endless pony baths.

I love playing with my son, even if his current pony obsession is not my favourite thing ever. I'd just expected it would be dinosaurs, you know? Or Star Wars action figures. Boy stuff. Like what I played with. :D

But now I'm thinking of buying myself a customized Little Pony on eBay, to go with my customized Stargate action figures. One with dragon wings would be cool.
Tags: my wonderful boy, parenting, this is my real life
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