Tag Archives: Barbie doll

What I Really Wanted For Christmas

It was a pretty great Christmas for our family.  We opened a lot of presents, ate a lot of cookies, and spent a lot of time together.  Our vacation officially is over today because everyone is back to work and school.

After each holiday, there’s always a bit of a disappointment, as I pack away the decorations and get my home back into order.

Sure, I got the Barbie I wanted for Christmas. 

christmas 2012 275

But once all these packages were opened, I realized there were a lot of things I wanted that I didn’t get.

Call me spoiled.

Call me a dreamer.

But, whatever ya’ wanna’ call me, I gotta’ let you know there were things I really, really wanted for Christmas, but didn’t get.  Same thing happened to me last year.

This is what I really wanted for Christmas.

1. Magic Carpet.  Who wants to face Seattle traffic?  Why can’t I fly above the city with my hubby when we wanna’ go somewhere?  Instead of looking for a parking place and then paying exorbitant parking fees, I’d just roll it up, tuck it into my oversized purse, and off we’d go. Should reduce my insurance, too, ‘cuz no fender benders in the sky.

2. Can of Invisible Spray.  Since the kids have found all my hiding places for all my things that I have to hide from them – chocolate and scissors and pens and tape – I want a spray that with one ozone-ruining poof could make them invisible from my children and save them from inevitable extinction.  The spray has to work on me, too, so if I don’t feel like answering, “Mom, where’s my _____________?” for the 187th time, I won’t have to.

Adapting a song I remember from Laugh-In when I was a little girl,  the theme song for this spray would be “AND PPPFFFTTT, MOM WAS GONE!”

3.  Booger Resistant Paint. Paint has changed since I had started having kids.  Now you can buy mildew resistant paint for your bathroom.  You can buy chalkboard paint and magically turn anything into a  chalkboard. Kids haven’t changed.  Kids and grandkids alike have this inability to discern the difference between a tissue and a wall.

C’mon, work with me, people, it’s not that hard.

Tissue is usually white 8×8 square piece of soft paper to blow your nose on.

A wall is a mixture of 2×4’s, sheetrock and siding that holds your roof on the house.

But, until children of all generations learn this lesson in discernment, I want paint that instantly repels nose candy.

My walls will say, “I’m rubber, you’re glue, repels off me and stays stuck on you.”

4. Teflon Carpet.  OK, if they can make pans that nothing sticks to, why I can’t I have carpeting like that?  This is 2013 and we put man on the moon decades ago.  Can’t they come up with a way to keep women from having to dig raisins out of their carpet fiber?

5.  Self-Cleaning Toilets.  I put a toilet brush right next to every toilet.  Every bathroom is stocked with cleanser, glass cleaner, toilet bowl cleaner, and jumbo containers of disinfectant wipes. Clearly, it’s not working. After having company last time, I went into the bathroom and was mortified by our toilet.  EEWWW.  I will spare you the details. I was thinking how horrible they must think we are, until I realized it might have been the company that left the bathroom in that state???????

6. Peace and Quiet.  OK, those gorgeous Miss Universe contestants can try to wax eloquent about world peace in a dress that cost more than a rocket launcher, but I would settle for peace on a much smaller scale.  I’d settle for peace between the offspring. I’d settle for not hearing those little bickerings over who ate the last cookie, whose turn it is to do dishes or who is the coolest.

If I can’t have peace and quiet, I would like the arguments to change to topics such as “Who’s going to buy Mom the most expensive birthday gift?”
”Who’s going to weed the entire garden without being asked?” or
”Who’s going to clean the three toilets on a weekly basis until death do us part?”

7.  Alice.  I want my own Alice. Ya’ know, the Brady Bunch Alice? Someone to make all the meals meals, pack lunches, do the laundry, grocery shop and break up fights between the kids.  She must be willing to wear sensible shoes, an ugly uniform, and live in a 10×10 room. So what did Carol Brady do with all her free time?  No wonder her hair was always done and she could walk around the house in a cool outfit without a hair out of place.  Without Alice she would have looked more like Phyllis Diller.

8. Boomerang Bed.  The sheets and blankets should fly back into place the moment I hauled my bum out of bed each  morning. At 48 years old and  I’m tired of making my bed.  According to my calculations, I’ve made a bed over 16,000 times!  If you count the times I made the beds up for my kids, that number increases.  Since I’m pretty sure I made my bed every day without grumbling from the time I was 5 years old, I won’t count for a large margin of error on my estimation.

9. Garbage Bags with Legs.  Do you know how many times I’ve had to say “Take out the garbage!  It is flowing all over the floor, it stinks and it growing maggots?” Too many.  It would be so much easier on my lung capacity if the garbage bags could take their own sniff and weigh test to determine when they should jump out of the can and march themselves straight to the dumpster.  Then they would automatically summon the next garbage bag to dutifully take its place in the empty garbage can.  Oh, that would be bliss.

10.  Talking Refrigerator.  Instead of mommy having to say, “Hey, close the door, it’s been open so long the food is room temperature” the fridge would do my nagging for me.  It should be programmable to nag according to the needs of the frustrated matriarch or patriarch of the family to say such things as ~

“Did you eat your fruit and veggie quota for the day?” 
“You spilled that milk, now wipe it up!  Pronto!  And don’t you sass me none!”
”That gum goes in the garbage can, not in here!  Last time you did that I had lime green smudges for weeks.’
”That pop is full of harmful chemicals and the carbonation decreases lung capacity.”

Since kids usually believe anybody other than their parents, a talking fridge would probably aid in the overall health of all of my children.

And if they listen to the fridge about their nutrition, I’ll add other instruction, as well.

”Go take out the garbage.  The maggots have to go.”
”Go make your bed.”
”Stop arguing with your siblings.”
”It’s your turn to clean the bathroom.”
”Stop eating in the living room.”
”Go find a kleenex!”

”Your mom?  No, I don’t know where to find your mom, her chocolate, scissors, pens or tape. I haven’t seen her since she got that Magic Carpet for Christmas.”

Yes, I’d truly be happy if I’d been given What I Really Wanted for Christmas.

I Got A Barbie For Christmas

Yea, you read that right.

I got an awesome Barbie for Christmas.  Yep, it was for me, and yep, I asked for it.

Why should I break a good Christmas tradition?

Our first Christmas together in 1986, I asked my husband for a Cabbage Patch Doll.  I knew we were a match made in Heaven when he asked for a Stomper Truck. Remember the battery operated pick-up that could drive over a stack of books?  It was one of those great Christmases where we both got the exactly what we wanted.

When we started our family we had kids to buy toys for. Those were the best years,  when they were  young and  didn’t want clothes or electronics.  I loved buying them toys as much as they loved getting them.

Then came the dreaded time when our kids outgrew toys.  Seriously?  Who outgrows toys?  Apparently, my children did. 

So, I went back to buying toys for myself.  My husband once joked that I musta’ had a deprived childhood.  No, my childhood Christmases were magical, I always got that one special toy that made my heart happy.  We weren’t spoiled, my parents didn’t run up debts and produce selfish children, but they worked hard to provide the one thing each child wanted.

Toys proved dreams could come true.

That’s why I love toys.

christmas 1971

See?  We’re all lined up, ecstatic over our Christmas gifts.  (L to R, Lee, Joel, Me, Allan, Laurie, Angie) OK,  Angie, looks scared, but I think it’s because she’s almost falling off the piano bench. Allan isn’t holding his toy, I think he already dismantled it, as he did every Christmas, trying to figure out how it worked.  He’s a Construction Engineer now, but has no toys left from his childhood.

In 1st grade, I was given the Malibu Barbie. She came with a fringed yellow towel, sunglasses and a blue swimming suit.  

In 2nd grade, I got Malibu Ken. 

In 3rd grade Malibu Skipper was added to my collection.

In 4th grade it was the Cut and Curl Barbie.

In 5th grade my Barbies could go camping, because I received the Barbie Camper Bus.

The best year of all?  In 6th grade I got the Barbie camping set AND the Sunshine Family.  The Sunshine Family has become the Ingalls family this year as I homeschool Rebekah through the Little House on the Prairie books. Guess Mom really scored that year, I am STILL playing with those toys.

Dolls 045

This is my new Barbie.

She’s styling my kinda’ clothes, skinny jeans, high heels, a jacket and a huge purse.  The purse has a notebook computer in it, of course.

But, I named her Novelist Barbie, ‘cuz she’s a writer, ya’ know.  That’s why she wears cool clothes and carries a computer everywhere she goes, just like me.  (the computer, not the cool)

I chose her for inspiration.

Not that I’ll ever look like that again, I really don’t care that when I sit down this smooshy stuff, my tummy, lands in my lap. I just tuck it into my waistband and pretend it isn’t there.

It’s not just her clothes and her computer that inspire, it’s the moto she’s posing by. I know she’s saying,“It’s never too late to be what you might have been.” George Eliot

I’m nearing 50, I’ve almost  finished raising my six children, I’ve had cancer three times, and have suffered innumerable tragedies and disappointments that I’ve allowed to  derail my ambitions in life.

Never again.

I wanna’ write.

As Anne of Green Gables said, it’s time to dust off my ambitions.

My Novelist Barbie is the perfect Christmas toy to remind me that dreams still can come true.


I Look Like a Barbie Doll

In a mother’s life there’s a sad, sad turning point,
when you stop being the joy and delight of your child’s life,
and they’re embarrassed
around you
regarding you
over you
near you…

Pick any preposition and add yourself,
to describe the dimensions of their embarrassment.

We were going to run a quick errand.

OK, I’m not telling the whole truth.
It’s never “a” errand, as in one,
and it’s never quick.

Anyhoo, we were on our way out the door when the winds of affection
changed directions in the climate of my 9 year old, Rebekah.

“Are you going out like that?” she asked.

Ignorant of my most recent faux pas, I asked, “Like what?”

“Maw-aw-aw-awm,” she informed,
(the longer it takes to say mom, the bigger your offense)
“you have a stick in your hair!”

Barbie Hair 003

When we were busy doing school in the backyard,
soaking up the last of the summer sunshine,
I was getting too warm.

Barbie Hair 004

So like the Prairie Momma I am,
that’s my name on my other blog,
I twisted up my hair and stuck a stick in it.

There wasn’t a pen or a chopstick nearby,
so I just made do.
I always impress myself when I can
improvise in primitive conditions.

To pacify her, I pulled the stick out and continued on my merry way.
Apparently, I forgot to comb my hair.
(And that wasn’t embarrassing?)
After all, I was on an errand mission.

Barbie Hair 008

When we got home, my hair was STILL wrapped up in a bun.

My newly grown curly hair and my wiry gray hair
have changed my hair into Barbie hair,
but not new Barbie hair.

Old, icky, abused-too-much, left-in-the-toy box-too long hair,
like my Quick Curl Barbie.

Except she was born that way.

The marketing propaganda that build up expectations that couldn’t be fulfilled.

The commercial promised hours of fun with this gorgeous blonde Barbie.
Instead, her hair didn’t hold a curl and she had constant bed-head.
Matted, twisted, frizzled, I-can’t-do-anything-with-it bed head.
By the time our Christmas tree was taken down,
I had a Barbie with a brand-new body and destroyed hair.

Since Mattel had changed the neck joint structure,
I couldn’t put an older Barbie head with good hair
on the newer doll.

I was stuck with the hair.

Now I’m stuck with my hair,
but this generation says bed head is cool.

According this blog,
by someone younger and trendier than me,
I was only a stick away from being cool.
She fixes her hair the same way,
but finishes it off with hair elastic,
sparkly tie or a strand of her own hair.

So, why should my daughter be embarrassed
in my presence
around my presence
regarding my presence
over my presence
near my presence
since I look like a Barbie doll with very cool bed head!?!