Entries from December 2007 ↓

by Tracee Sioux

Yesterday we went walking, the kids and I, to get our exercise and take a break what seemed to be a downward spiral of bickering and frustration at home.

There’s a prayer sanctuary near our house that’s open to the public with some wishing wells out front. It’s about a mile so we ventured forth.

Let’s go in and pray. We can show God our gratitude for our blessings.

Not me. I’m praying for a Barbie.

Stupid Freaking Barbie! When she had one she dismembered and beheaded it. Now, it’s her heart’s desire.

Is it only because it’s forbidden? I got her a Barbi-like knock off – do you think she’ll be satisfied?

We made our wishes in the fountain, on penny at a time and then we had some more so we moved onto the nickels, dimes and quarters. Then Ainsley tried to fish them out because she was out of money but still had more wishes.

You can’t steal other people’s wishes Ainsley. And if you get your wishes back they might not come true.

So, in we went to pray. I knelt and prayed out loud (it’s uncomfortable for me, but I try to teach by example) for all the wonderful gifts we’ve been given.

She went over to the spiral notebook and started writing.

Please bless that mom and dad will love each other all the time. Please let my brother be nice, she wrote.

Then we came home and she wrote a letter to Santa.

Mom how do you spell Barbie?

How do you spell Sleeping Beauty Princess Dress?

Okay now how to I write Barbie Computer?

Do you think he could really fit a tree house in a present?

A few days ago we were making a Dream Board, you know a collage of our dreams that we hope to come true. A visual representation of our goals, if you will.

She cut out a Bratz bedspread.

You don’t want that, I tried convincing her.

I do want it.

Like every mother, my hearts desire is to make all her dreams come true at Christmas. But, you’ll notice that I have a moral objection to nearly every toy on her list?

Is it irony, karma or a case of wanting the forbidden only because it’s forbidden? Or is it the mass marketing to girls today telling them they must want these things?

I’ve my theories but I’d really, truly love to hear yours.

How Come Zack Gets A Barbie?
Bob vs. Barbie
Friends With Barbies
Go Bratz Go!
No Bratz No! Tantrum Or Go With The Flow?
Princess Ban
Cinderella Should Have Saved Herself
Ariel – The Little Mute
Belle – Battered Codependent

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Tamara won the Discovery Girls books by placing a comment about her Penguin underwear showing through her play costume. Then the whole school called her Chilly Willy. She deserves those books.

But, I haven’t heard from her. If you are she, please leave a comment here and email me directly. If you know her, please email her and tell her she’s won!

If I don’t hear from her in a few days I’ll pick a second-place winner drawn from a hat. Someone needs those free books!

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by Tracee Sioux

This is the view I was missing by going to the gym every day. Isn’t it fantastic?

Honestly, my life to 33-years-old was not about health. One day I looked at my little family and realized every one of us had a medium-sized weight problem. Well, it wasn’t exactly one day – I mean, my husband had been complaining for years and I was ignoring it until my pregnancy phase was over. Then Ainsley’s doctor said she was on the border of having a weight issue. Even the baby was so fat I needed to lift weights to pick him up (but, it’s cute on a baby).

If a plane gets into trouble they tell you to put the oxygen mask on yourself first. Otherwise, you will render yourself incapacitated and there will be no one to save your children.

I find this method to be useful for other things like creating habits and instituting change in behavior and attitude.

First I got a gym membership and spent a year developing a habit of exercise for the first time in my life. I changed my attitude about it and learned to love it.

I established a clear connection in my brain that said exercise was a real part of our lifestyle before I felt I could give up the gym membership and venture out walking with my kids.

We’re up to an easy two miles now. And it’s a piece of cake. It’s great bonding time and great talking time. Check out the view I was missing!

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by Tracee Sioux

Someone handed my daughter a religious tract with $20 in it.

I took her to Walmart and she chose the Hairspray DVD.

This, this is what I want.

Hairspray? Okay. $20 is a lot for a DVD, are you sure you don’t want to wait till I find it at a garage sale?

No. I want it now. You know why? It has my favorite in it.

I’m hoping she just loves Tracy Turnblad.

Zac Efron, he’s my favorite. I just love him.

There is a part of me that is just surprisingly Puritan which wants to shout, But, you’re only 6 – what do you know of crushes? You shouldn’t feel this way yet! You’re not ready! Put that movie back! You’ll never see another movie again!

Except that I am still hopelessly devoted to John Travolta, which dates back to me watching Grease when I was her age. The love is unchanged. My cousin shared my attraction to him and playing John and Sandy was our favorite game. We wanted to BE Olivia Newton-John. I listened to the Grease album over and over. I bought it on tape and CD.

My love transended Grease and progressed to all things John and Olivia. Olivia’s albums including the old 70′s folk music, the 80′s pop Let’s Get Physical album, and Xanadu. Let’s not forget their encore movie together, Two Of A Kind. Then John’s work Saturday Night Fever and Staying Alive - ooh la la. Urban Cowboy, American Gigolo and Pulp Fiction. I even watched those stupid 80s films with Kirsty Alley and the talking babies. I loved him, even when no one else did.

I passed my love on to my younger sister and she flew in for an Olivia concert in the 90s. When they remade and rereleased Grease we paid full price. I have the video. My husband got me an Olivia t-shirt for Christmas a few years back – I specifically asked for it.

My dancing shoes, which eventually met a tragic end, were based on the shoes Olivia Newton-John wore in the last scene of the movie. I haven’t replaced them because I haven’t found a pair exactly alike. I probably smoked for 20 years because of that last scene. And only this Saturday night I looked in the mirror and realized I was wearing something disturbingly similar to Sandy’s bad-girl-sexy-outfit and I had to force myself to change.

Evidently, it’s genetic. I recently learned my crush was shared by my 84-year-old grandmother.

I want to see Hairspray with you, I have always liked that John Travolta, she told me.

I had a crush on John Travolta when I was your age, I shared with Ainsley.

Who’s John Travolta?

You know, from Grease?

Oh, yeah. I think I’ve got a crush on him too!

See? It’s genetic.

Hmmm. Don’t you think John and Zac look alike?

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While listening to the radio the other day I heard a female DJ pick apart Lourdes, the daughter of Madonna.

Oh My God, that Lourdes needs to be introduced to the tweezers. She not only had a massive uni-brow, but she’s got a full on mustache too, said mommy DJ.

The DJ happens to be the mother of a baby girl.

Hello! Lourdes is a little girl. At what age are we mothers expected to sit our daughters down and tweeze, pluck, wax and shave them?

Is 6 too young? Maybe girls should start shaving their legs at 8? The Burning Times has a report on Nair Pretty, a chemical acid hair removal cream, being marketed directly to 10-year-old girls for their clean bikini line. It’s profoundly disturbing that I’m no longer shocked.

Maybe it’s not even about when the girls might be ready for such milestones into womanhood, maybe it’s all about prevention of mean girl attention. Perhaps a mother’s best bet is to attempt to prevent scathing criticism of a girl’s appearance by prematurely eradicating any hair that might attempt to grow anywhere on her body.

You should be ashamed of yourself Sister DJ. You’ve just opened the door for bad daughter Karma.

You will find, as your daughter matures, that it is extraordinarily difficult to teach a young girl that appearance isn’t everything when all evidence is to the contrary.

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