The color of frustration

The weather has done me in. It has been raining for days and now the wet ground is covered with snow. Again.

Nothing nice comes to my mind. I feel like a giant thumb is pressing on my forehead. Or, as my daughter aptly described, like an anvil is weighing on my shoulders.

For some reason, I'm reminded of a day when I was very young. I had a big, red coloring book. In fact, I think the words on the front actually said, "My Big Red Coloring Book."

If my memory serves me correctly, my mother told me I had to get a shot.  I turned to a page in the book that featured a simple picture of a shirt. That's all it was. A shirt.

I took my red crayon and pressed as hard as I could and wildly scribbled back and forth across the page paying no attention to the outline of the shirt. While I can't say for sure, I think I broke the crayon.

That is how I feel today. I need a coloring book.

A bad picture of a shirt with scribble. Not nearly as satisfying as a crayon.

A slightly better etch of the fire place turned on due to cold on March 30.

Average isn't for me

I was an avid Barbie player as a little girl. In fact, playing "Barbies" was the number one past time for my cousin and me. She would come over toting her little case of figures and we would spend hours setting up houses and creating fun lives for our dolls.

Recently I saw a news clip about a new average Barbie. Apparently, "new average Barbie" has a more realistic body type, brunette hair and wears casual cloths like shorts and a button-down, collared shirt.

In my Barbie days, I was a slightly pudgy, average looking kid. My hair was dirty-blond as if that was somehow better than saying brown and I wore elastic waist band pants and usually one of my three smiley-face shirts. I don't recall being jealous of my doll's looks.

Maybe that's because for a long time I played with an arsenal of average looking dolls that I called my "Barbies." Maybe my mother was on to something about Barbie way back when because looking back I realize that she never actually bought me a real Barbie.

Yes, I had two hand-me-down Barbies from my sister's Barbie days, a blond bubble head and another one with black hair and dark eye shadow, but not one of my very own.

Nevertheless, I loved my dolls and playing them with my cousin is one of my fondest memories.

When my cousin came to play, we would dump out all of our average dolls into a pile and take turns picking which dolls we would play with on her visit.

The cast of average looking Barbie-type dolls included:

Tammy - a big-headed brunette whose legs could not bend, nor could she twist at the waist. She was what my dad would have referred to as a "big girl."

Pepper - Tammy's little sister. She was a cute little girl with freckles and her eyes looked off to the side as if she saw something interesting off to the right.

Skipper - a small, skinny girl with long hair and bangs. My sister begged me to let her cut her hair into a bob. She swore it would curl under at the chin in a cute, fashionable way. I let her. It did not curl as promised. (Note: Skipper later became an ill-behaved, unruly girl maybe even a boy from time to time.)

Francie - my first "twist and turn" doll. She had a beautiful face and silky, brunette hair that flipped up on the ends like Marlo Thomas on the TV show, "That Girl." She had a small, girlish build.

Jamie - a Barbie wannabe who had a push-button on her back allowing her arms and legs to swing back and forth as if she was walking. She did not have to walk at the mercy of my hand as if she was hopping up and down on her toes like all of my other "Barbies."

I was fine with all my average looking "Barbie" dolls until the day my cousin came over with her brand new Malibu Barbie.

Her hair was long and blond, her skin was kissed by the sun, her legs could bend at the knees and she could twist and turn at the waist. She was beautiful and I was jealous. I wanted my own Malibu Barbie.

While my cousin played with her pretty Malibu Barbie, I continued to play with big Tammy. Seemed her new Malibu Barbie never made it into the "pick" pile.

Finally, my birthday rolled around and I got the money that I needed from my grandfather to buy my very own Malibu Barbie. I actually still remember walking into Woolco, an odd department store that is now closed, with my mother to get my new doll. It was a big day.

From that day forward, my new tan Barbie was my number one girl. Tammy became the mother. From time to time, I think average Tammy even assumed the role of Ken until Malibu Ken arrived.

I dressed my Malibu Barbie in pretty clothes. I don't think she had a boring outfit like shorts and a button-down collared shirt. Her clothes were fancy.

And unlike me, she looked good in a bathing suit. She went to the beach with my cousin's Malibu Barbie in her cool convertible sports car.  It's what I loved about her. I didn't mind being average compared to Barbie.

Maybe I'm wrong and little girls want an average looking doll. Maybe average Barbie would make them feel better about their future bodies.

As for me, I wanted the pretty Barbie. And, I gotta admit. If someone had given me an "average Barbie," I would have been... well, let's just say, it wouldn't have been pretty.

Fun in the sun for Miss Malibu Barbie!

Of course I still have her!