I think it's a pretty well-documented fact that I loathe the little Latina known as Dora. It's not that I'm opposed to her Spanish-speaking ways. After all, I speak Spanish and have started to teach a little to Alexis (She's been known to proclaim, "Claro que si" for no apparent reason--I did that, thankyouverymuch!). It's not that I have a problem, per se, with commercial characters. I tolerate Mickey Mouse and Pooh just fine. My problem with Dora is that I have no doubt that her puppet masters have smoked a whole lot of crack. If those scripts aren't written by a bunch of drunken doped up teenagers, then . . . I don't know what. You'd have to be blind and deaf not to realize that Dora's writers are about as in touch with reality as Britney Spears after a night of hanging out sans underwear in a gas station bathroom.

And yet, I suddenly find myself suddenly MADLY, DEEPLY IN LOVE with Dora. Really. I want to give her a big wet kiss on the lips. I want to stroke her hair, hug her, even caress her very-kickable, football-shaped head. I want to make out with Dora. There, I said it.

Remember how we bought Alexis Dora bedding? Remember how I made a big deal out of the new sandpaper sheets? Guess who has bought into my sales pitch?

Oh, yes.

My kid? Has been staying in her bed all night. She has even resumed sleeping through the night. In fact, she has only called for me in the middle of the night twice since we bought the tacky linens.

I have actually gotten a solid eight hours of sleep several times in the past week. And for that, I will forever worship Dora.

Long live Dora! And her crappy bedding!