Children of the 80's, You Are All Failures

By now you've probably seen the news story about Galia Slayen and her life-size Barbie doll. Just in case you haven't, Slayen made the Barbie to draw attention to eating disorders by demonstrating what Barbie's measurements would be if she were a real person (39-18-33). Slayer has struggled with an eating disorder in the past and while she says Barbie is not fully to blame for her struggles with body issues, having the doll in her life as a child was a contributing factor.

When I first saw the story, I was all sorts of PFFFFFT. Blaming a toy for issues as an adult? LAME. Even if it is a sort of back-handed, indirect, wimpy sort of blame.

But then I thought about it and realized something...it's TOTALLY Barbie's fault that I think my waistline is in need of some help. I mean, I've got the whole bust thing right on, but I haven't had an 18" waist since I was probably five years old.

Once I started thinking about it, I realized there are a lot of childhood toys responsible for current miserable existence.

Transformers

Every time I'm in the car and some jagoff cuts me off, forgets to use a turn signal, or is driving 20 mph under the posted speed limit, I glance desperately all around my car for that magic button that will transform it into a robot. I *NEED* to be able to order that robot to start shooting the offender. The fact that I don't have a Transformer as a car is clearly a failure in my life. ::SOB::

Cabbage Patch Kids

I positively adored my Cabbage Patch, Karla Robyn. She was my everything for a few years. I slept with her, I changed her clothes, and I carefully combed her magnificent mullet. These days, when I look in the mirror, I can't help but be disappointed that I never managed to grow Karla Robyn's awesomely thick hair and her perfectly curled bangs.

Lincoln Logs

If you had told me twenty years ago that some day I would be living in a house with five and a half bathrooms, I would have laughed in your face. First of all, I would have said that nobody needs that many bathrooms (true story, that). Then I would have told you that a girl from the trailer park wasn't going to grow up to live in a mansion. It just isn't possible.

Now that I live in that (not really a) mansion, I can't help but be disappointed that I can't fix its faults as easily as I could when I built Lincoln Log homes as a child. The fact that I can't just pick up the roof and move a few walls around, thereby eliminating some of those (SUPER stupid) extra bathrooms is devastating. DEVASTATING. I have nightmares about those extra toilets rising up  and killing me in my sleep. I could boldly face those fears as I ripped out one toilet after the other, if only I lived in a Lincoln Log house.

Troll Dolls

I come from the generation that believes a golden glow is healthiest. Sure, we want our UV protection so we don't get skin cancer, but we want that magnificent tan. *I* want that magnificent tan.

It's no wonder. We all aspire to have that amazing skin tone that Troll Dolls naturally enjoy.

The Smurfs

I think I speak for my entire generation when I say Smurfette had a huge influence on my childhood. We all wanted her flirty little white dress. We all coveted her flowing blond hair. But, above all, who didn't want her mile-long eyelashes? I know I cry every time I look in the mirror and realize that my eyelashes are nowhere near as long as the legs of a daddy longlegs spider.

It's devastating.

Strawberry Shortcake

When I was a wee lass growing up in the frozen tundra of North Dakota, I used to pass the long, cold days by sniffing my Strawberry Shortcake doll. I sniffed her so often that I eventually became immune to her wonderful scent, but I knew it was still there. It was during those early years that I began to believe that all girls should smell lovely and sweet and intoxicating at all times.

These days when I wake up, I don't smell like strawberries. I weep as I step into the shower, hoping that my body wash and shampoo will be enough to make me conform to society's expectations.

It doesn't work.

Sometimes I get really upset at my failings and I drive for miles until I find a strawberry field. I roll around in that field, desperately hoping that the sweet fragrance will make its way into my pores.

It never works. I end up smelling like dirt and cow manure.

I am a child of the 80's and I am a failure. A fat, non-robotic-car-having, limp-haired, lame-house-residing, pale, eyebrow-deficient, stinky failure.

Worth The Extra Effort

If you dig through my archives, you'll find photo after photo after photo showing Alexis not quite looking at the camera. She was born instinctively knowing to close her eyes just as the shutter released.

Or to look just a little to her left when I clicked the button.

Or to hide behind whatever she had available.

It was her mission to ruin as many photos as possible. Truly, she found joy in evading the camera, which was highly convenient for those of us who are considering having a camera surgically attached to their forehead. Ahem.

But, somewhere along the way she started to figure out that it was kind of fun to see photos of herself. It was even more fun if some of those photos were silly or goofy or crazy.

Her favorites are the ones where it's obvious that she was laughing so hard that she has tears in her eyes.

In between all the silly and goofy and crazy, every once in a while I'll manage to capture The Real Alexis. The good-natured, silly,larger-than-life creature who can make me laugh just by looking at me funny.

And it is those photos in which I get lost.

Sloppiest Bunny Ever

I like to think Alexis is a pretty smart cookie. She can write her full name, her address, and her phone number. She reads entire books all by her lonesome self. She outwits me at every turn. But, I do believe Easter has proven she's not all that bright after all.

I have always been pretty sloppy with the whole Easter Bunny thing. Frankly, I don't care if the kid knows that the Easter bunny generally answers to the name "Michelle" and spends most days obsessing over Nutella, sporks, and camera equipment. Mr. Husband was the one who set the Easter Bunny up as a Thing and I've just gone along for the ride. I've been sticking my head out the window and leaving a slobbery trail of hints all along that ride, but Alexis doesn't seem to see that which is right in front of her face.

Exhibit A: Alexis was with me when I bought all of the candy this year. I claimed we were getting candy for her to take to school and for a basket for Mr. Husband, but how she hasn't noticed that it was the exact candy that ended up in her eggs and her basket, I have no clue.

Exhibit B: I sure do seem to know all the places that damn bunny hid the eggs. It's almost creepy how I can walk in a room and quickly walk straight to every single one. It's as if I put them there!

Exhibit C: We were all at the store together when I picked up her "major" Easter basket item--a DVD. She went with Mr. Husband while I quickly grabbed it from the back of the store and checked out separately. First the cashier basically waved the DVD in front of her face when she and Mr. Husband managed to walk past me at the exact wrong moment. Then she saw me carrying the bag out to the car. Then I put it in the trunk, despite the fact that I *never* put anything in the trunk of the car we had that day. It should have all be very suspicious.

Exhibit D: Because of the super sucky weather, I didn't get around to hiding anything outside until this morning. The number of pointless tasks I gave her so she would be busy long enough for me to run around the yard was astronomical. I mean, I dumped her Barbies out of a box and then made her put them away. It wasn't just cruel, it was ridiculously obvious that I was creating busy work.

Exhibit E: She saw her Easter basket in the laundry room WAY before she was supposed to see it. She full-out admitted that she had seen it when she started begging to go get it. Instead of just formally revealing it, I did the "Hey, look! Something shiny!" routine and moved it before she could look back. When the basket that SHE HAD SEEN appeared in the back yard, she should have known shenanigans were afoot.

Exhibit F: Two of the things that were in her Easter basket happened to be things that have been around the house for years. They were leftover prizes from her birthday party. They REALLY should have seemed familiar.

Instead of catching on to the Easter Bunny's shenanigans, the kid added to his mystique. She gave him credit for leaving footprints in the guest bedroom (it was circles of crushed carpet where the bed used to be--it's moved out right now while I paint in there). She blamed the jelly bean pooping monster for messing with the TV remote when I couldn't find it. She found an alleged tuft of fur in the desk and proclaimed it the Easter Bunny's. It's almost as if she WANTS to believe in all things Easter Bunny, so she makes things up to make him more real.

She's so totally not the smartest carrot in the bunch these days.