The other day, I wrote about an event (the light parade down Mill Avenue) that exceeded expectations.

So it’s only fair to share the dark side of the weekend. Well, not so dark. But definitely on the darker side of pink.

It seemed like a great idea to take Annabelle, Sophie and their 5 year old cousin Kate to LIbby Lu. If you’ve never heard of Libby Lu (I’ve written about it before — note to self, learn that damn link thing on wordpress) it can best be described as Sparkle Heaven. Or Hell, depending on your perspective.

It’s a hair salon without the cut and wash, a place with a lot of bath products you’d never let your daughter’s you-know-what near. Harmless, I suppose, as long as you stick to the pink glittered high tops and avoid the sluttier options available for your toddler.

It’s one of those places I always swore I’d never take my kids. But after my first foray — on a quiet summer Saturday afternoon with Annabelle and a fellow second grader — I felt confident all the girls could handle it.

Poor Sophie. Poor Amy. From the moment we walked in, Sophie wanted to be in charge — and she couldn’t be. You just can’t let a kid wield the sparkle container, for obvious reasons. From the fight in the changing room to the fight over the wig (don’t ask) to the fight to pick out pink and purple plastic crap that comes along with the package I’d bought each kid, Sophie was loaded for bear. (Is that actually a usable phrase? I’ll have to ask Sarah Palin.) I’m shocked I got a smiling picture.

In the end, only Kate got her nails painted and no one got an updo. They all left in wigs (well, Sophie ditched hers long before we actually walked out, it looked great after being shoved in my purse) and the worst part was when Sophie absolutely refused to remove the tee shirt they gave her to wear for the visit.

I wanted to blame Sophie for her bad behavior, but I had to blame myself. I do think that generally speaking, the best policy is to treat her like any other kid, but watching her at Libby Lu on the day after Thanksgiving, I had to admit that some things are just not Sophie-appropriate. I think even she’d admit it. I hate to use the trendy vernacular, but this was sensory overload, sparkle style.

I’ve given it such a ringing endorsement you’re probably rushing out the door to the mall (really, I do sort of love it — the girls who work there are super nice to the little ones, and really, all that pink is a victimless fashion crime) but if you want to bring your kid to Libby Lu, you better do it soon. Big signs pronounced the entire national chain is going under, closing shop(s) in January.

Big sales on all that pink crap right now, though. And kiddie wigs, complete with hair nets.

TV is bad. Except for Baby Einstein. And the Wiggles and anything on public television, but definitely not Nick Jr. Well, OK, Spongebob once in a while, but no commercials. Whoops. OK, commercials but definitely no “regular” TV. Except for Animal Planet.

Barbies are bad. OK, she can have a Barbie, but not a Bratz doll. That is actually where I have drawn the line and so far managed to stick, but it’s been easy, since Annabelle’s not particularly interested in the slutty side of childhood. (Yes, there is such a thing.) I don’t take credit; I got lucky. This is a kid whose favorite cable channel is Noggin, which bills itself as “pre-school on TV”. She doesn’t notice; she’s in love with a large blue octopus with a top hat jauntily perched on his head. I love Oswald, too. So does Sophie. So it all works out fine, for the moment, anyway. I’m ready for the next adjustment; I tell myself that, at least.

I initially resisted Libby Lu. You can check it out at www.clublibbylu.com — but let me warn you, it looks worse than it actually is. (As long as you stand firm on some limits; we stuck to the “package” I pre-purchased.) For six months, I’d been promising Annabelle and a pal a “raincheck” for a cancelled play date — the whole idea snowballed til I felt like I really had to deliver. So I called Libby Lu.

Libby Lu is a store in what I call the “evil pre-tween” section of the mall, two shops down from Claire’s– culture shock after years on the Baby Gap/Pottery Barn Kids wing. Everything is pink, from the fake plastic cell phones for sale to the creamy bath stuff the girls can scent themselves. (Also for sale.) It’s as close to the spa as my kid will get for a long time.

In the end, turns out Libby Lu is a smart marketing concept that consists of 90 percent glitter and 10 percent cheap plastic crap. Hey, we have plenty of both at home, and “Miss Haley,” the cute high school girl who “did” the girls’ hair (no brushes, just a lot of twisting, bobby pins, and glittered hair spray) and did their makeovers used a lot less pale blue eye shadow on them than even I would have. The girls got bags they filled with bubble bath and hair clips, and silly pink head sets so they looked like Britney Spears, which is fine since they don’t know who she is and their midriffs stayed covered.

I can’t wait to take Sophie there.

“Is everything you own covered in glitter?” I asked Haley, as she dumped half a bottle of something sparkly onto Annabelle’s tiny fingernail, my daughter quivering with excitement.

“Oh yes,” she said, in a deadpan most impressive for a girl her age, particularly one wearing a side braid and a pink tutu over her jeans. “I have Sparkle Vision.”