I’m sure I’m not the first to come to this revelation, but I find a certain level of irony in the fact that the very point of variability between the variety of such dolls one could add to one’s collection often ends up the first element sacrificed – their clothes.  My daughter has only about 4 or 5 Barbies (she was never hugely into dolls), and to my knowledge only one complete outfit still retrievable and intact – which, due to the tedium of application often is discarded anyway during play.  While I know that naked Barbie play is a fairly common trend – I had playmates in grade school who had collections of them, I know my wife and her sisters commonly played with them as such in their youth; the only example I know of to the contrary would be my own sisters (they were surprisingly prudish about such matters at the time – I was often sent from the room when outfit changes were in order) – what I find fascinating about this trend is the creative rationalizations built around it.

For instance, just a few days ago I come home to my kids playing with the collection of unclad dolls (the one dress only inches away completely ignored).  When I ask what they are doing, the explanation is that they are shopping at a special grocery store where moms are allowed to shop naked.  In conversations on such topics with my wife, their apparent go-to rationale was that all of the dolls clothes were somehow stolen and there seemed to be a lack-luster effort put into locating or retrieving said items.  My grade-school playmate seemed to have an array of dolls with painted-on underwear (which in most cases she seemed to scrape off).

While I know that Barbie has been used as a focal point as a gateway to the unrealistic female body-images that our daughters (and sons) are exposed to, it is hard to see that affect in the eyes of these children at play that are so innocent as to not fully understand body modesty (a point also clear in the joy they get from stolen moments of naked time after baths or in the mornings).  Don’t get me wrong – I do take the body-image issue seriously.  While we encourage our kids to play and be active, it is never backed by negative messaging (e.g., you need to lose that baby fat).  Hopefully my kids will only retain the positive aspects of these experiences – imaginative, cooperative, and care-free play.

By the way, the picture in this post was found via a Google Image search that was innocent enough in nature (naked barbie doll – with safe search on), and I come to find that someone actually made a calendar full of such images made to look like a pin-up calendar … which is just a bit creepy (also, this pic was the ‘tame’ one from the spread).  I believe that I had read somewhere that Mattel may actually be suing over this, so if the image suddenly stops working there may be a valid reason.

Anyway, if you’ve got any childhood memories of quirky justifications for clothing-optional Barbie play, feel free to share.  Or if you were more like my sisters and kept your dolls chaste, I’d like to hear your stories as well. And in either case, if you feel that your dolls’ proportions influenced your own body-image feel free to discuss.  Thanks for reading!

As a result of the short night’s sleep, Cricket was in rare form most of Saturday – breaking down in a handful of whining fits throughout the day and finally falling asleep mid-afternoon in my bed.  Ironically this happened while I was at the grocery store getting the makings of burgers to grill at her request.  I made the burgers nonetheless and hers still sits in the fridge to be eventually consumed or tossed.  My wife and I had considered eventually moving her to her own bed, but instead took advantage of her absence to get her room to an actual clean state.  Officially, we didn’t throw away anything except a few pieces of actual garbage, unofficially we filled at least 2 garbage bags – one with donation items.  We also collected a wardrobe’s worth of laundry and a classroom’s supply of pencils from her floor (and don’t even ask me how many hangers).  I then opted to sleep in her bed in her stead – it was fairly relaxing until the kids came in in the morning and were literally running circles on the newly clean floor.

Yesterday things were generally more even-keel.  The kids were in good spirits and properly rested.  They even played well together at times (not all the time, but some of it).  We enjoyed some time at the park and went to pick out some paint for the loft bed I plan to build Grasshopper.  Things only got hectic when dinner preparation ran long requiring us to eat fast – a feat that is nigh impossible it seems for children under 8 – so that we would make it to Cricket’s bridging ceremony on time (bridging ceremony = groups of Girl Scouts walking across a plank of wood situated next to a blue tarp resulting in the need to re-accessorize in a new vest color).  As my daughter’s troop marched up to the staging area, I couldn’t help but marvel at what the patches on the backs of their vests depicted as achievements (e.g., bowling, s’more-making), but I guess at the ages of 5 to 7 you can only expect so much.

The local den mother (or whatever you call the senior officiant for all of the levels of troops) took a moment to point out that the Girl Scouts was undergoing a drastic program change next year, thus making the patches and honors currently awarded soon to be ‘collector’s items’ (i.e., it’s a profit deal).  Once the ceremony of it was over and my daughter was officially promoted to the Brownies, the kids all got sugared up on cake and then shortly thereafter were literally running around the auditorium at top speeds.  Incredulously there were few if any injuries and we were able to drag our kids home without any complaints for them to settle to bed without too much hoopla.

It is easy to see that very little of my life as a father any longer revolves around me.  But I’m perfectly content with that.  I love my kids and I couldn’t imagine things any differently.  Among the various kid-centric events of the weekend, I got to spend rare one-on-one moments with my son, and I got to take pride in the continuing growth and accomplishment of my daughter.  I can ask for little more in life.

This morning I was awoken by such a sound at the surprisingly late hour of 7:30AM.  As I braced myself for the possibilities as I walked down to the second floor, I find my children both sitting on my son’s bed (wearing matching nightshirts – would be cute if not for the mischief that seemed to be brewing between them).  I decide to avoid asking what they are up to in favor of diffusing their plans with the enticement of television and breakfast.  As we walk downstairs – Cricket zooming in front of me, Grasshopper bounding behind me – I suddenly feel a small projectile strike the back of my head and bound over the railing to the floor below.  I turn to my son and calmly but firmly express that we don’t throw things at people, to which he responds with a tone of innocence “but it was only a weapon”.  Clearly the implication of this word has not been fully grasped by his 3 1/5 year-old brain.

To be fair though, even their mischief is innocent at the core of it.  The kids are typically good and mean well.  And all of the growling and pelting by projectiles melts away when I see your son hugging my anxiety-ridden wife and telling her everything will be okay (long story) or when my daughter decides to commission me to help her make Mommy breakfast in bed “just because we love her.”

So yes, those little feet can have many implications – joy as they dart to welcome me home from work, jubilant mischief as they scurry to hide on to jump out and tackle me when I come near, or devilish mayhem as they cross the threshold of a department store.  I’ll take them all, though I wouldn’t mind if my morning alarm clock had some sort of snooze button – occasionally I wouldn’t mind sleeping in.

But now I have kids of my own, and the last thing I want to do is to pass my own food aversions on to them.  So I’ve made a point of exposing them gradually to a variety of foods in these formative years and trying not let my own food preferences influence their own.  I’m currently working on gradually breaking down Cricket’s spice aversion (she is learning that spices aren’t always spicy, and can make foods tastier), and exposing them to some vegetable options my own parent never pushed on us (e.g., brussel sprouts).  I also recently fooled her (and myself) into eating mushrooms by finely chopping some and replacing a 3rd of the meat in a lasagna with them (I also added a good amount of spinach – it was quite good and I didn’t tell her until after she was finishing a second helping).

Grasshopper is a bit of a different nut t o crack, though.  He will actually eat a number of veggies without a problem.  And whereas Cricket I need to force to drink milk every day, Grasshopper will chug it day and night.  But he is not a big fan of meat.  This is not truly a bad thing – there is nothing wrong with a diet of mostly produce as long as the proteins get in there somewhere.  He is only 3, so I figure it is a phase he will eventually (at least partially) outgrow.  I can now add another non-meat protein source to the list of things he likes, though.  My mom came to visit for the weekend, and due to her own digestive health she came with groceries.  Upon departure, we were left with two cartons of Silk soy milk (one chocolate, one vanilla).  I’m not really a fan and neither is my wife, but I’d hate to just toss it.  So as an experiment, I gave some to Grasshopper the next time he asked for ‘choca-milk’ – he guzzled it down as if it were no different.  And both last night and this morning, he asked for a cup of ‘soil milk’.

I’m sure my kids will develop their own tastes and food aversions – we all have them (I know I still do).  I’ll continue to fight the important food fights (e.g., wanting a treat every time the ice cream man drives down the street).  But luckily so far neither of them are too finicky (at least not as finicky as I was).

Cricket at play as Alice at the Please Touch Museum

Today my Cricket turned 6 years old.  It is weird to see you becoming a little lady so fast.  It is hard to believe that those days of making you giggle on your bouncer was so long ago.  Now you are in Kindergarten learning to read and write and do math.

We had a party for you this past weekend – we had a bunch of your friends both from school and from our old stomping grounds up near Allentown (your mother was not too happy with me for having beer at the party, but there were as many adults present as kids).  As I sit here writing this the streamers and banners are still hanging in the doorway, only feet from the Christmas tree and the stockings.  Also as I sit here, I can feel the dinner and ice cream from Friendly’s sitting heavy in my stomach.

I have to say that there is no way to impress upon a non-parent the love that a parent has for their child.  I love my wife, I’ve loved others before, and I will always love my parents and my sisters, but none of those compare.  No other love can rival the unconditional love that is so full of hope and eager anticipation, so full of tolerance for anything and everything, so lacking in selfishness that a parent feels for a child – that I feel for you.  Always.

I love the little rituals that we share.  A part of me looks forward to giving you a kiss, a hug, and a very special bug as you leave for the prom, as you graduate from high school and college, as you walk down the aisle.   I love that we can talk about nearly anything, no matter how trivial.  I love to see you see the world through your own eyes – without my particular brand of bias – and see what conclusions you might reach of your own accord.

It is funny to see you interacting with school friends now – and how much of myself I see in you when you do.  I see some of the same shyness that I tended to have with new people, and then the same bawdiness that I tended to have with those with which I was comfortable.  You also have that same tendency to politely argue against things – with your “Well actually …”.  I love that at 6 you can use words like actually, essentially, similar, and dozens of other multisyllabic words that even I didn’t tend to use until much later.

Happy birthday, Cricket.  It is hard to believe that I’m already 1/3 of the way to having to let you go away to college.  There is so much to learn between now and then.  But so far I’m enjoying my lessons.