and Sprinkles on Top

It’s Art

Posted on 06. Apr, 2009 by Deb in Observations

When I was a little girl, I loved to play with Barbies.   They had furniture and cars and lots of clothes.  My grandmother made Barbie clothes for me, I attempted to make Barbie clothes, and my mother bought clothes for my Barbies.  I loved nothing more than changing their clothes and shoes and when I was forced to put them away, I made sure each doll was dressed just right.

Fast forward twenty years to being a mother to daughters.  I wanted my girls to have the same love for Barbies that I had, so beginning from the age of three, Barbie made an appearance at many birthdays and Christmases.    We had My First Barbie, various Disney Character Barbies, Spice Girl Barbies, and the Wizard of Oz ones, including the Wicked Witch of the West Barbie, who was green from the top of her forehead to the tips of her green toes. Children have a way of being like their parents in some ways, and different in others.  Neither of my girls got my Barbie Gene and each of their dolls, no matter how fancily dressed ended up the same:  naked.

It wasn’t that I didn’t buy clothes for the girls’ dolls, they just bored quickly of them and when told to put their toys away shoved the dolls into the clear plastic under-the-bed boxes.  There was no desire to carefully dress the dolls as their mother had done; naked was just fine.   Most frightening, truly, was the Wicked Witch Barbie because, as I said, she was GREEN from head to toe – and everywhere in between.  My ex-husband and I used to joke about it, because invariably a child would beg for Veterinarian Barbie or Mary Poppins Barbie, and he would ask why when they all just ended up naked.  At ages 17 and 13, it has been at least six years since a new Barbie has become a part of our household.

When I was talking to the ex today, as divorced couples with children tend to do, he suddenly said “I hate plastic Easter Eggs just as much as I hate Barbies.”

“Um.  Where did that come from?”

“Well, when Kid was cleaning her room yesterday, there were those stupid plastic Easter Eggs everywhere.  Easter Eggs are never put together, there are always halves everywhere.  Just like all those Barbies, who were always naked.”

I laughed, because he is right.

Then he told me about the rest of the discussion “When I told her to just throw them away, since there were only half eggs laying around on the floor, she said  “But Dad, it’s art.”

I guess to a thirteen year old, carefully arranged portions of plastic eggs can be art, but in the eyes of her father, it was just clutter on the floor.  Hmm.  I wonder if I can talk one of the girls into putting those old Barbies to use and making some of art?

Tags: Barbie, kids, Parenting