I was a Barbie girl.

Posted by random olio

I was a Barbie girl. Yes, I hounded my sister daily to play Barbies with me. She hated it. I of course still persisted. I probably had 10 different Barbies and one Ken doll to go along with them. I am not sure what ever made me want to play with Barbie. It is hard to see in hindsight as I am so far from a Barbie girl these days. I, of course, did not see that their feet were set in a previous high heel position, or that getting their high heels on was nearly impossible. Is that why I hate high heels today?

One of mine had a fake tan (I think she was called Bikini Barbie), another was Exercise Barbie with her own workout outfits, one had a fancy dress, another was Bride Barbie, but other than their differing outfits they all looked the same — not much to differentiate them from the other. I know I made up different scenarios and enjoyed trying to create different clothing options — so maybe I was interested in design and had no idea. Other than that I do not remember why I was so enamored with Barbie.

Fast forward to 2015 and Barbie launches this new ad that is not about fashion and looks, but rather teaching, sports, and taking care of animals. It goes deeper. While maybe it feels like the adults looking on are laughing at them, I wonder if the laughing is fascination with what is coming out of each girls mouth. I am not sure what a young girl would think if they watched this ad, but I hope that the message at the end: “When a Girl Plays with Barbie She Imagines Everything She Can Become.” My hope is that a girl does not have to just play with Barbie, but that when a girl plays at all her imagination lets her create the world around her so she sees all she can be.

What do you think?

Dancing to induce labor

Posted by random olio

Yes babies are on the mind. I am growing fast and my belly will not stop itching which leads me to believe that this little boy is growing fast inside me. Of course as things become a major focus in your life you begin to see certain ideas everywhere. Such as the recent pop-up (for me) of pregnancy videos of women trying to induce labor. I have been told so many things in recent weeks. Making eggplant parmesan, using castor oil, sex, and dancing — like this mom-to-be that dances to Thriller:

I can promise you that I will not be creating a YouTube video that can be shared millions of times of my belly (in the hospital or at home) while I try to bring this ‘lil man into the world. I have no skills on the dance floor, and while I might try yoga moves, sex, or a massage — making my YouTube debut is not one of them. Also, you can spend quite a bit of time just searching “videos” of pregnant moms sharing their dance to induce videos. You will see songs, bellies, and dance moves of all shapes and sizes.

#Iamnotdancingforyou

You are so much more than that…

Posted by random olio

Oh man, sometimes you read something and it is a home run. You wonder how did the author or poet put the words together in a way that makes you feel like each word choice is perfect. It speaks to you in ways you have not been spoken to before that moment.

Thank you, Emily Parkinson Perry – for your post and introducing me to Rupi Kaur. I now want to read Kaur’s book “milk and honey.” This poem shared on Perry’s blog makes me think about all the times I might have told a little girl how pretty she was, or how I liked her dress. Or, to the adult women who I might have envied.

I want to apologize to all the women
I have called pretty;
before I have called them intelligent or brave.
I am sorry that I made it sound as though something as simple as what you were born with is the most you have to be proud of…
when your spirit has crushed mountains.
From now on, I will say things like, ‘you are resilient, or ‘you are extraordinary.’
Not because I don’t think that you are pretty,
but because you are so much more than that.

–Rupi Kaur

We are so much more than our bodies, our face, or our ass. We keep our families going, our work world alive, and have the adventure and drive to make sure all the pieces of the puzzle fit together into the masterpiece called life. I only want to be seen in a meeting for what I bring to the table, not the size of my waist or the shirt on my back. I want to be seen for me.

We are so much more. We are so much more. We are so much more.

Daisy Duke was a badass

Posted by random olio

On Sunday while walking in downtown Portland, I heard the theme song for the General Lee from the Dukes of Hazzard. As I looked down the cross street at the intersection I was in, I see the actual General Lee (or a replica) driving fast down the street, blaring the horn. It brought back memories from my childhood. See, some might say I was a deprived child, and some might say it was a blessing in disguise. I grew up without a functioning television set in our house.

What did that mean for me? I absorbed television at friend’s houses and when I spent time with my grandma. Those were the days of Nick at Nite, and the constant circulation of reruns. One of my favorite shows with the Dukes of Hazzard. Of course I watched plenty of Love Boat, I Love Lucy, Three’s Company, and more current versions of my childhood Full House, Perfect Strangers, and Family Matters. It was the 80’s.

With all the recent talk about the Confederate flag, I heard that the owners of the actual General Lee may paint over the Confederate flag. Why? I am not saying I support the Confederate flag or what it stands for, but the General Lee is a car with the flag from a television show from 1979-1985. It is a moment of time in the history of television. In any case, I digress. What I really wanted to talk about was Daisy Duke. I adored her. While she tended to be the only “known” woman on the show (none of the other women that were young had reoccurring roles), somehow I wanted to be Daisy. What little girl did not? Scary as it might be the “look” of Daisy Duke is not that much different from “models” today.

While I have nothing near the body of Daisy Duke, the one thing I loved about her — no one pushed her around. Sure, half the men were speechless in front of her, but those that could hold their own usually ended up with a kick in the ass by one of her heels. Maybe that is why I liked her so much. I can remember one year (I think I was in third grade), Daisy Duke was going to be at our mall and I got a photograph of her signed. I was so excited — I thought I had met my own version of Wonder Woman. I wonder whatever happened to that signed photo of Daisy Duke?

High maintenance? Why not?

Posted by random olio

I have thought a lot about what it may mean to raise a boy. While I was not completely set on having a girl, I knew that if I had one I would make sure she was a badass. Knowing that I am having a boy, I often think — how do I make sure he is strong while also gentle and sensitive? What happens in a boy’s life that makes them want to kill everything they see, or punch everything? Is it nurture or nature? I guess I will find out soon enough.

I grew up with a dad that would remind us that we were to “be seen and not heard.” I have the smallest of bladders and would always have to go to the bathroom (and still do) and my dad always made me feel horrible about it. As though it was my fault that I had to go to the bathroom 30 minutes later. Thank you to my wonderful, patient husband who might sometimes think: “Seriously? You just went.” but still makes sure we can find a bathroom. (That was the case pre-pregnancy too).

In any case, a line from the book “Rising Strong” by Brene Brown reminded me of my childhood:

“In my family, being high maintenance was a huge shame trigger, especially for girls. Be easy, fun, and flexible. Need a bathroom break on a road trip? We’ll pull over when we don’t have to cross the highway to get to the gas station. Don’t like what we’re having for dinner? Don’t eat. Carsick? It’s all in your head. Unfortunately, being low maintenance also meant not asking for what you needed and never inconveniencing anyone.” Page 100

I cannot tell you how many times I was told by my dad that it was all in my head. I remember one summer we were told we needed to shuck about 6 dozen ears of corn. We would buy a large quantity when it was the end of the season, shuck them and then freeze them for the rest of the year. Supposedly it still tasted just the same (but corn was just corn to me). I vividly remember sitting on the front porch step, making a mess of all the remnants when I felt a sharp pain in my thumb. I look down and my thumb is covered in blood. Now, I have a very high pain tolerance, but I have NO tolerance for seeing blood (mine or anyone else’s). I yell for my dad and we go inside. As he is rinsing it off we realize there is a piece of glass in my thumb. It must have been in the soil and grown in with the corn husk. We get it out and I literally pass out from all the blood. When I am back and normal again my dad basically tells me it is all in my head and that I am a wuss. Seriously.

That and many other situations throughout my childhood made me not ask for help, and honestly it is hard for me to do so today. I did what I could to not be high maintenance, to figure it out on my own, and not be in the way. It was easier that way. However, I do not plan to raise my son that way. I want him to use his words, and speak up — whether he is high maintenance or not. I want him to be just who he is without being squashed by the judgements of others. Is that too much to ask for?