Correction

It has come to my attention that I forgot to pay homage to the most important of Barbie's friends and family, Stacie, Barbie's baby sister. How on earth I could have forgotten Stacie is beyond me. My own sister, also named Stacie (what a coincidence!) gave Marissah a Stacie doll for her birthday or Christmas one year. Forgive me, those holidays all run together.

Last night when I was trying to sleep it occurred to me that my house is Barbie-free. Well, maybe not completely Barbie-free. We still have a sad, lonely set of twin sheets that feature our blonde and beautiful friend but, as my boys are the only ones with twin beds, they don’t get much use. There are no longer any Barbie dolls, clothes, shoes or accessories in our house, though. Not a one. They’ve all gone to the great Barbie emporium in the sky, courtesy of Waste Management, Inc. and Glad Force Flex garbage bags.

The whole Barbie thing at our house started when Marissah was two. My lovely neighbor, who shall remain nameless (her name rhymes with bear-see, just a hint) decided that my daughter needed her first Barbie doll. I was adamant that she did not need her first Barbie—she was two years old! Well, Neighbor-who-shall-remain-nameless got her way and she gave Marissah a Barbie for Christmas. Marissah liked it, of course.

I wasn’t anti-Barbie or anything, but I’m still not sure she’s a great role model for young girls. Let’s face it, when Barbie leaves the “office” at night, we know she’s not going to a museum opening or even home to read a book. No, no, no. Barbie’s heading home to watch Entertainment Tonight and thumb through the latest copy of People to see if there are any articles about her and Ken’s nasty break-up. She’s not volunteering her time at an animal shelter or a soup kitchen, she’s spending hours on the phone with Skipper, dishing out advice (No, Skipper, you simply must wait for him to call. Good girls don’t call boys!). This isn’t even touching Barbie’s totally unrealistic body image. If Barbie were a real woman her measurements would be 38-18-34. I don’t know about anyone else, but my 13-year-old daughter’s waist is bigger than that, by quite a few inches!

Yes, I know there are Teacher Barbie and Astronaut Barbie and probably even Rocket Scientist Barbie, but there is also Barbie and Tanner. Tanner is a dog and he poops. Yes, he poops. Never fear, though, Barbie has her own little pooper scooper and a lovely pink trash bin in which to dispose of Tanner’s waste. And we also have Barbie Divas-these are the new version of that 80s hit, Barbie and The Rockers! Our girls can learn to dress like Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan, just what we’ve always wanted!

I had a few Barbies when I was growing up, but not many. I just wasn’t that into them. My most beloved Barbie wasn’t a Barbie at all. It was Barbie’s friend, Tropical Miko. Now, we all understand Barbie’s friends, don’t we? Most girls never wanted to play with them-they were just “extras.” Face it, Barbie had to have a little competition for Ken’s affections. That’s where Teresa and Skipper and Miko came in. And Miko, well, she’s another story altogether. She’s Barbie’s version of that famous line: “I’m not prejudiced! Some of my best friends are black!”

So while I was lying in bed last night, I was kind of surprised by the little bit of sadness I felt. I’ll never again find a naked Barbie in the fridge or the bathtub. I’ll never again play Barbies with Marissah, teaching her how to dress the dolls and showing her the finer points of color coordination. On the other hand, I’ll never again step on a Barbie shoe in my bare feet in the middle of the night-and that is something for which I am truly thankful! I guess I’m mostly sad that my little girl has grown up and left her Barbies behind. While I was writing this, I turned to Barbie.com for assistance. Marissah noticed and asked what I was doing. I told her I was looking for something. “For me?” she asked. “No,” I told her. “Good!” she said.

Slap Jack!

Aaron has a new favorite game. Yes, we've been playing Slap Jack all. day. long. During one of our rounds I noticed we were short a few cards, three to be exact. I sent him on a treasure hunt to find them, but he only returned with two. Figure the odds on this: of the three cards we were missing, two of them were Jacks. He only found one. Hahaha! Makes Slap Jack a little more interesting, at least.

He beat me the last game and proceeded to sing "Woowoowoowoowoowoowoo!"

When I Rule the World.....

A Louisiana town passed an interesting law this week. They've made the "offense" of wearing sagging pants that show a person's underwear (or "private parts" as the mayor called them) punishable by up to six months in jail and a $500 fine. Read it here.

Now, of course I can't say I agree with this new law. Let's save jail space for the assholes who really deserve it: rapists, murderers, drug dealers and deadbeat parents. But let's have a little fun with this.....

When I rule the world garments containing more than 5% Spandex will be banned on anyone who weighs over 100 pounds. Yeah, that's pretty much everyone and for a damn good reason, too! Spandex doesn't look good on anyone with even a little meat on their bones.

Speedos? We'll never have to see them again once I'm Queen of Everything. Well, maybe I can make an exception for competitive swimmers and divers because, in my opinion, swimmers are extremely sexy and I enjoy seeing their bodies. But they will never be allowed on a public beach again!

Crocs. See previous post.

What would you ban if you ruled the world?

Crocs....Again

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Crocs are yucky. If you weren't convinced before, check out who's wearing them now.

I rest my case.

Big News!

My baby just wrote his name all by himself for the first time!!! He's growing up so fast!

We Now Return to Your Regularly Scheduled Programming

My kids came home from camp yesterday. My house is officially a disaster area again. Only two months until they go back to school.......

Why I Hate Wal-Mart

I've been to Wal-Mart twice today. I'm never going back. Not even for another adorable pair of Happy Bunny pajamas (purple and they say "You'd be cooler if you were me."). I'm just NEVER going back.

Aaron and I went to the Evil W this morning for bread, milk, cigarettes, etc. Got into the Express lane (because that's the only lane you can purchase cigarettes, of course) and proceeded to wait for 20 minutes (maybe even more). The cashier was having trouble and the customer at the front of the line was unsatisfied with her total or something and this required several calls for help and much nitpicking. Finally it was my turn....and it turns out the cashier is also slower than a snail! Sheesh, Aaron could have rung us up faster and he's never worked a register. I was glad to leave, obviously.

Tonight the big kids and I had their final meeting before DEFY camp. They are all signed up and got their long, long lists of things they need so we headed to the Evil W so I wouldn't have to go tomorrow (since I'll be doing laundry to make sure they have enough clothes for camp tomorrow). We got all our travel size toothpastes and shampoos and our toothbrushes and bug spray and got in line to check out. I prefer to use the self checkout and since I didn't need cigarettes, that's where we went. And then we waited. And waited. And waited. Turns out all of the registers decided to crash. All of them. Every. Last. One. I have never seen so many people in line before. I have never seen so many crabby people in line before. It was insane. We waited at least 30 minutes before the registers came back up and then another 5 or 10 before the lady came to restart the self checkout registers. No kidding, I was ready to cry. We finally left the Evil W ninety minutes after we entered the store, and we left without beach towels because when I tried to scan them I learned they had no bar codes anywhere and I'm certain you can understand why I was not willing to ask someone for help.

I'm never going back to that house of horrors again. OK, that's a lie. But I'm not going again for a really long time and at some point I'm sure I'll have to go back because there's nowhere else to shop in this Godforsaken two-bit hick town. UGH!!!!!!

3 am

About two years ago I was waking up every night at the same exact time: 4:09 am. Every single night, never a minute later or earlier. At the time I blamed a neighbor's alarm clock or something like that-something that was waking me up but that I just couldn't put my finger on.

For the past week I've been waking up around 3 am every single night. Not an exact time, I don't think, but I can't tell for certain. See, our power went out about a week ago and I haven't reset my alarm clock since. It's a statement. It says "My kids are done with school for the summer and I have no reason to set my alarm clock. So there!" I'd look at Mike's clock, but since he had his surgery and is wearing an immobilizer on his shoulder and arm it's like sleeping with a humpback whale. I look over and all I see is this huge mound in bed next to me. Well, two mounds really. One mound is his 8000 pillows and his head and the other mound is his arm in the immobilizer. In order to see his clock I'd actually have to sit up and I just don't have that desire. Instead, I look at my clock, subtract two (I do know it's two hours off, but this could be am or pm and I don't care) and say "Hmm, I'm awake again at 3 am. Wonder why that is?" and then I stare at the ceiling for 30 minutes or so until I fall asleep again. Gotta love it. Not. I do take something to help me sleep, but it helps me fall asleep, not necessarily stay asleep. Weird. In any case, it doesn't really matter. My kids have been letting me sleep in and it's sheer bliss to wake at 9:00 am instead of 5:30. I dread August and having to make sure Marissah is at the bus stop by 6:20 every morning. UGH!!!!! Hopefully our schedules will be more normal after we move......

Another Bird Update

It's been over a week now with no sign of mommy bird. She's apparently abandoned her eggs. :( There are only four there-at one point she pushed one of the eggs out of the nest and I put it back in. Next time I looked it was completely gone. And no, it wasn't just after that that she abandoned the nest.

Now I have four unhatched (and will never hatch) house wren eggs, two lovely (cough, cough) bird's nests, and one dead impatiens plant. Lucky me.