Plastic Fantastic

At fifty four she looks younger than she did 30 years ago and she hasn't gained a pound. She's had 130 careers and is still looking for new challenges. She' taken care of 50 pets, worn outfits designed exclusively for her by 75 top designers and starred in 25 chart-topping, direct-to-DVD movies.

How?  

Well she's never been pregnant...  

Her freckly friend Midge landed that job and where is she today you might ask?

Riffing on the Barbie theme of this week, I discovered in my archives a paper I wrote in 2004, during my MA, on Barbara Millicent Roberts of Wisconsin, (A.K.A Barbie) as a cultural icon.

So I've created a new page tab A Toy Story for your reading pleasure and maybe also to prove I can be 'serious and deep of thought'. Or at least I could B.C. (Before Child).

The paper subject was 'A Radical Ethnography' and the brief was to take an everyday object and discuss it's impact on, or reflection of, our cultural development. 

A subject dryer than an Arizona summer if you ask me. One student wrote a very clever piece centered around the transistor radio, but I wanted to take something seemingly frivolous and pretty (mostly so I could use lots of nice colourful pictures) to reflect our culture, our consumerism, body image and the developing roles of women in society.   

I don't think I received a spectacular mark for this one, but I kinda got the impression along the way that certain lesbian* members of faculty where particularly un-keen on 'girlie' stuff such as 'Chic Lit', and Barbie dolls.  Unfortunately those are two of my specialties.

The facts and figures are all updated so, if you think you're up for it, read on...

 
*Please know that I have absolutely no problem with Lesbians (some of my dearest friends are Gays)- each to their own - in fact looking back on most of the guys I dated in my twenties I can completely understand the preference.

Snot Season Survival

I have fallen in a heap - yeah, another one..

Mother and child both with bad colds and the wheels in our household slowly grind to a halt. She's sprawled on one sofa under a blankie watching Finding Nemo on loop. I'm under a throw, on another sofa with Dr Phil then the Nanny.

The front door's left half painted, a chair is in two pieces with its new upholstery stuffed into a wardrobe between winter coats. I keep shifting this bag of fabric, bought two weeks ago to make a new nightie, yet I'm still waking up with the old baggy one twisted around my body, corkscrew fashion.

When we manage vertical postures we stumble through rooms dotted with baskets of clean unfolded laundry like large untidy land mines.

Where is my obsessive compulsive disorder this week? I blew it out my nose into a wad of Kleenex. That was right after I sneezed eight times in a row throwing my back out in the processes. My back has never been the same since childbirth, followed by years of carrying child on hip and then child hitting 20 plus kilos.

Why am I not any thinner?

Well, when you're sick as a dog and your lovely husband offers you a Moroccan Lamb pizza with no washing up involved... Who gives a pair of dingoes kidneys? I'm ill and grumpy.  I need nourishment not dishes!

"I wont think about those calories now, I'll think about them tomorrow," said Scarlett.

Each day the clutter builds, no one has the energy to pick up anything and there are literally dozens of Barbie's and Ken's strewn about the place, hanging from lamps and other fixtures, tucked under bedding and cushions and making head-to-toe trails from one room into the next.

The Barbie dolls themselves have become very untidy too it seems; there are tiny stilettos, hats, handbags, uniforms, tiaras and stethoscopes all over the place. You'd think Doctor Barbie, at least, would be a bit more meticulous about her medical equipment.

We had something happen to our barbie population this week. Visiting some friends at the weekend, their very generous little girls gave our littler girl a box of old Barbies. She was over the moon and seeing her delight I was too. For a bit.

We now have a bit of a housing shortage to deal with. My clever re-purposing of two IKEA STÄLL shoe cabinets no longer cuts the mustard space wise.
I've just counted and each compartment (designed for four pairs of shoes) at a pinch, holds up to twenty barbies.

OH MY DOG!!!: that means she has over 40 Barbie dolls now?  How did it come to this? No wonder I can't close the compartments anymore without having a ribbon or ponytail poking out somewhere.

It's like a mass immigration from Mattel - we'll have to introduce off-shore processing if the situation gets any worse.

So after a week without TV, I turn on Finding Nemo. And it stays on. And on, and on. 

You see when She-Who-Loves-Pink is not dragging out her entire Barbie collection, she's into drawing murals. Elaborately themed pictures that run over at least five A4 pages taped together. They're very cute and creative but wall space is another diminishing commodity in this place.

So the old' idiot box' goes on after so much silence.  I make my excuses that Nemo is about the ocean and considering this is her science topic at school this term, I am, in fact, merely supporting her education. Yeah.
It has nothing to do with the fact I need her to be still for a while and give me time to clear up, take some drugs and have a damned good lie down myself.

Yeah- it's all glamour and cocktail frocks this mummy gig.

Aaaaaaaachooooooo

Footnote: 

By pure coincidence, this came through Facebook today from a wonderful page called
'Meanwhile In Australia'

Footnote 2

Many thanks to the divine Mr Frenchie, who cleared the land mines, folding the clean washing and putting it all away. We must not breathe on him, lest he is contaminated and rendered incapable of further acts of  kindness, support and pizza purchases. As always, he stops the wheels coming off entirely.

Lucky number 8

Before the start of this school term I made a pact with myself.

I had 8 weeks before the next school hols in which I would drop 8 kilos, add 8,000 words to my novel and write 8 blog posts. Yay! Nothing like a new BAG (big audacious goal).

Whereas grocery shopping used to be my cardio, I’m trying to build proper exercise into the school routine so that I do something energetic every day.

I pretend I’m doing the Atkins Diet – I say pretend because although you’re allowed a glass of wine a day that’s not in the first phase and definitely not three glasses a night. Also KFC’s popcorn chicken and wicked wings aren’t strictly a carb-free protein hit, even if you don’t eat the fries.

So my pact is not exactly on track. I've kept up the running after school-drop-off, but the weight isn’t (Dropping off). And I hate it. I feel like I have lead in my runners and sandbags wrapped around my waist.

I would rather have my armpits hand-plucked than go for a run, on any given day, quite frankly.

I’m thinking though, if I keep hammering away at the anvil one morning I'll just wake up, feeling great and all my clothes, of the non- maternity left-over variety, will miraculously fit me again.  Except running everyday makes me extra hungry.

So I’m a bit in the doldrums; a spotty faced, lead footed Lumpkin.  What’s that? Time for a bit of retail therapy? Yes, well that’s exactly what I thought, but since clothes shopping depresses the hell out of me at the moment, I bought a new door!

It was delivered and installed yesterday and needs to be painted. (even that’s more fun than running) It’s quite freaky though, with a solid door the hall has always looked like a black hole and now- I keep seeing light in my peripheral vision.  All day yesterday, I got halfway through the thought ‘bloody hell, who’s left the front door open?’ before I remembered.  We have triple glazed lead-light panels with a red rose bud in each panel and quite frankly, it’s gorgeous. We just need to decide on a colour.

She-who-worships-at-the –altar- of- pink has already started lobbying for her favourite (gaaaaah). By lobbying I mean, begging and whining that escalates into the threat of tantrums to come.

I have assured her that no self-respecting ‘real-life’ person (nixing the 'Barbie does' argument) would ever paint an actual door, Screaming-Hot Pink. She tried leveraging the fact that the old door was "shiny apple red" too. 

I say; “We didn’t paint it that bright it was already done when we bought the house and we were never keen on it anyway.”

“But it was really lovely, and PINK would be even lovelier, and everyone that sees it will say “WOW look at that lovely PINK door” oh pleeeeeese mummy..’

   

I agree about the 'wow' but I think any other comments to follow that would be very negative ones.

Personally I'm leaning towards a nice heritage charcoal with a hint of blue that blends in with all the iron lacework.

Any ideas from you lot? 

PS: two and a half weeks into my B.A.G : I've lost one just kilo and don't even ask about the novel...

Shag-a-delic Baby

 

 

Holiday Hair Goes Retro... where we ask the big question: "Who hasn't had a shag, baby?"

How do you know whenyour hormone therapy is working? An increasing obsession with Shags? 'Fraid not. More likely you'll bust-out in teen-style acne. 

I have MtVesuvius growing out of my left nostril, acne infested; decolletage …and the leftside (only) of my jaw. Still trying to figure out that one.

But at least my hairlooks nice.

A funny thing happenedafter my last trip to the hairdresser... I decided I needed a change, afternever letting my hair down- both literally and figuratively, for months. 

I tookin this picture:

And I came out of thesalon with my hair at least, looking exactly like that.

Then I slept on it andit looked like this:

One more sleep and itlooked like this:

This was when itdawned on me - I had inadvertently revived the 70's Dolly-Cut.

For those of youunfamiliar with the Dolly Cut it was a female variation on the 'Mullet'.
But the Dolly-Cut was a bit subtlerthan the guys’ version (sometimes).  Itusually had one heavy layer, level with the bottom of the ears, and either onelength or subtle layering below.

MacGyver; probably the only man in history who made the 'Mullet' look half-decent

 

Incidentally, allow me to digress for one moment because my research has uncovered
a ban in Iran on the Mullet!                 Smart move if you ask me. 

But I'm serious, according to this fascinating article The Iranian Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance banned "un-Islamic" Western hairstyles for men especially the mullet, as recently as 2010! Begs the question; "has it seriously only just caught on over there?" Are they watching too many MacGyver re-runs or something?  Catch up people, David Beckham will show you all you need to know in the latest male hair-trends. 

I bet the female version would go down like a cup of cold sick with the IMCIG, especially known by its other name. It falls under the category of, and is often referredto as a ‘Layered Shag’. As opposed to the ‘Long Shag’ which I know nothingabout since I became a mother – (oh yeah, wrong kind’a shag, sorry)

There is also a Short Shag (Is that like a quick shag at all?) Sorry, mind in the gutter again.

This style below is sort of a Dolly Cut/Shag hybrid:

Long Shags, Short Shags, Layered Shags, seriously everyone from Posh-Becks to Helen Mirren has had a shag at some stage . 

Jane Fonda is especially fond of Shags. In the 70's she started out with the real deal; Jane like Suzy Quatro was one of the most famous Dolly Cut pioneers. She didn't look too happy about it, huh? She looks a lot happier post Shag..

Mind you, if I could live in permanent soft focus these days, I'd be smiling that wide too.

 Even Florence Henderson (AKA Carol Brady) looks positively smug after her Shag:

Anyway,  I now have aDolly Cut (or shag). The same haircut I had when I was wearing my first school uniform... Ok.

I can’t complain though;after a 14hr flight wearing either  headphones,or a sleep-mask, my 'do' looked gorgeous! My face was another story of course.

Twelve washes later, mymoody mop still did something a bit different each day, but now it's mostlyalways a good something.

Apparently this kind ofstyle is recommended for both double and weak chins, although I notice that the models and celebs in these articles have jawlines like Buck Rogers.  My chin is as weak as a wet Kleenex, so anything that steers me in that direction is a bonus.

Now my fashion-crystal-ball is thinking that maybecowboy jeans (please, God, NO!) and Indian moccasins are due for a comeback too. The latter I wouldn’t mind so much - they're pretty much just 'themed' suede loafers.

As far as the rest of me goes,  I just have to sortout the acne, starting with Mount Vesuvius - and of course my weight, whichhasn't shifted at all. Note to self – cut out the twice weekly KFC andking-size portions of ravioli bolognaise.

But hey, at least my hair looks nice.  

Epilogue

My fashion crystal ball was right, on my return from Europe, Indian moccasins started making appearances in stores all over.  Zoe Wittner does them, but oddly they have spiked studs all over them. That's fine if you want to look like a Native American punk-rocker.  

Which I don't.

ARF!

Just when you think the kid's getting a bit wiggy, someone suggests it's possibly early-onset-Nobel Prize...
..get outa town?!!

So, there I was staggering up the beach, recently sprayed with wet-dog-shake, struggling to make it to our towels so we could head home.

Buddy was dancing around us, so relieved we’d stopped swimming beyond his depth and therefore negating any impending lifesaving duties. He’d scratched us to pieces in the water with his claws doing his circling-shark impersonations; such a well-meaning and neurotic dog.

I was simultaneously tripping over our dry-land-circling-shark and dragging Lucie along by one arm trying unsuccessfully to stop her rolling in the sand while she's still very wet.

Only moments earlier, when I’d told her we had to go, she’d shot off down the beach barking at seagulls.

I said; "Can you please stop being a puppy now and go back to being a little girl? You're not a very well trained or well behaved puppy and you do much better listening when you're a little girl."

Lucie looked up at me and said:
"ARF!"

I have this little girl Lulu. She is small and very funny.

I don’t know if you know the Charlie and Lola books and cartoons by Lauren Child? 

They are wonderful. Non-violent, non-shouty, the music doesn't make you want to Van Gogh your own ears. Everyone speaks nicely (Even Marv with his East London accent) and everyone displays good manners and consideration for others.

I actually bought our first Charlie and Lola book because Lola reminded me of our girl; with her comical expressions and untidy blonde, sticky-uppy hair.

In one story, Charlie becomes concerned and then embarrassed that Lola won’t stop “being an alligator”.  Well I’m waaaaaay past embarrassed, because my girl often finds it very hard to get ‘out of character’ too, but for her it’s mostly about puppies.

She turns doggy frequently and inconveniently and, as I told her this day on the beach, she’s not a very well behaved puppy. But you can rest assured she will stay a puppy for “completely ages”.

The pup-act usually comes into play when we’re trying hard to be somewhere on time. She’ll sit on the floor and wiggle her bum (pretend tail-wag), busy herself in a pretending-to-poo-squat or pretend-cock her leg on the furniture. Nice. And every pleading moment her response will be ‘arf’.

Am I worried? Do I look worried? Well I confess due to an increasing amount of time spend touring the realms of Imaginaria, I did what all parents do; I Googled it.

According to the experts, it’s not only normal, it’s desirable?! 

That’s easy for them to say – they don’t have to drag wet and sandy pretending-puppies up to the beach showers for a hose-down. Or wait until someone’s taken an imaginary dump on the living room carpet then demanded it be bagged up, before you can leave the house.

Anyway they seem convinced by their research and there's sure a lot of it:

“An important benefit of early pretend play may be its enhancement of the child’s capacity for cognitive flexibility and, ultimately, creativity (Russ, 2004; Singer & Singer, 2005).”

I take it that’s a good thing.

“The research reviewed by Berk, Mann & Ogan, (2006) and Hirsh-Pasek, Golinkoff, Berk, & Singer (2009) suggest that make-believe games are forerunners of the important capacity for forms of self-regulation including reduced aggression, delay of gratification, civility, and empathy.”

My girl could do with learning a bit of delayed gratification – she’s already going on about next Christmas… But the really encouraging passage in this article (from Psychology.com) was this one:

“Root-Bernstein’s research with clearly creative individuals such as Nobel Prize winners and MacArthur Foundation “genius” grant awardees, indicated that early childhood games about make-believe worlds were more frequent in such individuals than in control participants in their fields (Root-Bernstein, 2012).”

So what they’re saying is that if we survive the pretend puppy phase, the imaginary pets; (lions, tigers, ponies and guinea pigs – because they all get along so well), the imaginary planets: (have you ever been to planet Biscuit? We have a resident of that planet living under our roof)..

… after all that, we could have a Nobel Prize winner on our hands?!!

OK. Cool I’ll look forward to that.

Today I happened to walk past the school ground at recess and I saw my girl alone with a skipping rope wound around one leg pulling hard on something that clearly wasn’t there. So I asked her about it on the walk home.

“I was having a tug of war with my Lions” “And I was winning mummy!!!”