1 Mother 2 Another

My girls have not gotten hugely into
Barbie – she’s never appeared on a cake or taken over
our gameroom - but it’s definitely on Cora’s radar. I
think the plastic dolls first started coming in the house as the
Disney princesses; the actual Barbie first came across Cora’s
path as a book, I believe. You know the books – the tons of
books-from-the-movies that Barbie “stars” in, like the
dancing one and Fairytopia and the Ariel-wanna-be girl, Merliah.


Ok, so we have our fair share of Barbies in the house.


I’ve resisted buying them a lot of “Barbie”
stuff, partly because it’s stupidly expensive (what I do buy
comes from resale shops), a bit because of the whole feminist issue
(though let’s not put all the blame on Barbie for this one, O
Mouse House), but mostly because I have a whole trunk of Barbie
paraphernalia in the garage.

Cora, bless her precocious heart, learned
to read and deciphered the word “Barbie” on my
OCD-labled trunk in the garage about a year ago. And ever since
then she’s been pestering me to get the trunk down and let
her play. I’ve held out for a long time: first, I was hoping
she’d skim over the Barbie phase and we wouldn’t need
to go down that philosophically slippery slope; and then when it
was clear that wasn’t happening, I was waiting for them to
frankly grow up a bit and not break all my cool doll stuff.


Yes, I do think Barbies have the potential to do some real damage
to our girls as they grow up. And yes, I’m aware of the
hypocrisy that exists when I say that I don’t think
they’re the best toy while at the same time jealously
guarding my trunkful of Blonde Bimbo Cornucopia.


But here’s the thing about how I played with Barbies: it
wasn’t about the dates. I never had a Ken doll, and I never
thought about what Barbie *should* be doing all day when I stopped
playing with her. For me, Barbie was about three things: truly cool
clothes that I could never afford; learning how to be creative with
what I had; and organizing closets.


Yes, I had OCD at an early age.


I inerited my mom’s Barbie – the original,
high-ponytailed, blue-eye-shadowed, white cat’s-eye
sunglasses girl. I also inherited a KILLER wardrobe for the
swingin’ girl, including a fur stole, silk stockings, a drum
majorette costume, tons of great evening gowns, and a wardrobe of
sweet high heels.


What I did NOT inherit was a plastic doll house to go with it, or
official Barbie furniture sets. Barbie’s clothes hung in a
set of four cigar boxes my mom had cut, glued together, and wrapped
in wallpaper – and it is KILLER. She took a thread spool and
a tin cup, glued them together and painted them white, and voila
– she had a sink. Three match boxes taped together became a
chest of drawers.


This was a huge blessing for me and my imagination –
Barbie’s world was up to me to create. My parents gave me an
old plant stand – three levels of shelves – several
carpet scraps, a roll of scotch tape, and some of her fabric
remnants and told me to come up with Barbie’s house.


And boy, did I.


Over the years I did acquire a few actual pieces of furniture; I
got a nice wooden bunkbed set – not built for Barbie, but we
made it work and used a couple baby’s washcloths for
comforter covers – and a set of wicker chairs and a table
that I was able to bend Barbie into. And in one miraculous, joyous,
top-ten-favorite-moments-of-my-whole-life moment, I got a Barbie
(ok, generic Barbie equivalent) kitchen for Christmas.


Listen, this kitchen was hooked up.


I had bags and bags of paper grocery boxes to put away. Coke
bottles, milk bottles, apples, egg trays, you name it. My kitchen
was one solid piece with a HUGE (to me) refrigerator that
“required” constant re-organizing. I set that kitchen
up over and over again, changing how the pots nested in themselves
or where the salt and pepper shakers went. Does this have anything
to do with how much I enjoyed moving every few months when I was
performing, constantly “setting up” a new kitchen and
putting all my shoes and clothes away?


Maybe.


Anyway, my best memories of the Barbie play times are of me having
free reign over what her house would look like, finding creative
ways to make something out of nothing, and leaving Barbie to come
home to a beautiful, well-organized closet. Never once did I ponder
her dating life or career path or wonder at the fact that she
didn’t have a kid.


So did playing with Barbie dolls have an impact on me as an adult?
Well, let’s see – I’ve worked off and on as a
closet organizer and personal assistant, and I enjoy creating a
lovely restful space for my girls to inhabit when they’re out
of school.


So yes. But it never in any way influenced my caree path – or
lack of career path, either – or made me think twice about
what I could or could not do.


I started this whole thing merely as an intro to telling you guys
what happened when I got down The Trunk for the girls yesterday.
But I see my daughters trying to put a dress on the (real-life) cat
so I’ll end this here and say –


Tune in tomorrow for Barbie: The Next Generation.