Gone, but forever with me

I believe the people who we lose in death are never really gone from us. Since my Dad passed back in 2000 I feel him around me all the time. My siblings report similar experiences - dreams, "coincidences", and sneezing fits which we know in our bones mean that Dad is making himself known. My Mom on the other hand, well, she died when I was just 6 and a half. I have felt the hole left in my life by her passing as a giant gaping crater for as long as my memory stretches. While I have always felt a love, I haven't really felt a strong physical presence from her. I know she's here, I just think she takes kind of a subtle approach because anything more would just be way too emotional for me to handle on a daily basis (and also, that may just be more her personality). I totally accept that.

My Mom's death was tragic. She was so young, only 49. She had so much life still ahead of her. She left behind 5 children, including a 16 year old and a 6 year old. My father was devastated - and although he went on to marry again, he never got past the loss of his true love. Our family is strong, bonded together forever in part because we share this terrible loss, but we're quiet about it. We can laugh and joke and use really inappropriate "death" humor and talk about my Dad, and a half dozen other dead relatives, but when it comes to Mommy - well, sometimes we choke even on the name. It just...hurts so much. I worry sometimes that because we don't talk much about her she is being forgotten. My children are so close with their Dad's Mom..."Grandma", I wonder how the occasional mention of their "Grandma in Heaven" can hold any place in their hearts.

My daughter Curly is named for two special people. Her first name is the same as that of my Aunt, my mother's sister, and her middle name is Patricia - which yes, is my name, but is also my mother's name. I have a beautiful old black & white photograph hanging in a frame in Curly's room. It is a picture taken on a rooftop in Brooklyn of the two sisters, newly arrived in America. They are wearing new clothes and smiling widely. The picture was taken and sent home to Ireland as proof that the hardships endured by my grandfather in sending two of his daughters off to a better life, were indeed paying off. I especially like the picture in Curly's room because my Aunt is on the left and my mother on the right - so the picture is of "Finola and Patsy" - literally Finola and Patricia - my daughter's namesakes.

Tonight I was laying in bed with my sweet girl - a luxury as usually her bratty little brothers take up so much of my time at bedtime that she is already in dreamland by the time I come to "tuck her in". As we laid together I was looking up at the picture hanging near her bed, and I asked her if she ever looked at that picture. She told me she does, that she likes to look at it. I asked her what she thinks about it and she told me that she likes to think about her "other Grandma". I got all choked up, but tried to hide it. She went on to tell me that she always pictures her in her mind, young with short brown hair, then turned to me with tears on her cheeks...at that point I couldn't hide mine anymore. My sweet little seven year old reached out her hand to wipe my tears and said "I know...it hurts that she's not here" REALLY? Where did you come from you Angel of Heaven! You beautiful thing. My love. She asked me if she was young, and demanded to know why she had died. I explained as best I could about growing up poor in the 1930's and 40's in Ireland and that she had contracted Rheumatic Fever as a child - that she was very sick when she was a little girl - and that it had made her heart weak. That her heart got better for a while, but then one day it just wouldn't work anymore. My Curly girl wept openly for the grandma she has never known but for the picture on her wall. Then she announced, "well, one good thing...I am glad she got better when she was little, or else we wouldn't be here now." I told my Curly girl that her Grandma in heaven is with us all the time, that the love she taught her children is the same love she gets from her Mom and her Aunts and Uncles and is the same love that she shares with her brothers and someday with her own children.

All my life I have wanted to be a Mom. Maybe because I had some unfinished business in the Mommy department, but always this life of mine, these kids, they have been my vocation, my calling. Before I had children I thought that I would feel the absence of my Mom even more strongly when I became a mother. In the beginning after Firstson was born I thought a lot about her- the fact that she had gone through many of the same things I was now experiencing- rocking my baby to sleep after a feeding in the wee small hours, staring at him as he slept just to watch him breathe... The effect was quite the opposite of what I expected, as I grew into my own role as Mommy - that is, the more I defined myself as "mother" - the less I defined myself as "motherless". The job came so naturally to me, and I was, am, good at it. I am blessed. And maybe the reason that I don't feel that huge hole as much anymore is because my Mother is close beside me now, guiding me through everyday. (Wow...seriously THAT idea just came to me as I typed , excuse me while I wipe the snot and tears off my face and keyboard....)

Just a minute ago my Curly girl, who is supposed to be long asleep by now, crept into my room to make sure my tears were dry ....yes, I do think there's a reason, a very good reason that my Mother feels so close to me tonight...

Two of a kind, sort of

This is the picture that my Curly Girl recently made for me. It's us. She and I, me and her.

I love it.

I love that we both have curly hair. Mine is brown and hers is yellow. As you can see from her artful swirleys.

I also love that while our outfits coordinate, they are not all matchy matchy. I like that. She is wearing a purple shirt and red pants, where I am wearing a red shirt and purple pants.

I LOVE that I am wearing purple pants.
I wish I had real purple pants.
I do have purple shoes though. Real purple shoes. They are so cool.

Oh! and big fat flower hands! I mean, do you love the big fat flower hands?

What a girl, my Curly Girl.

Party Prayer

About a week or so before their birthdays I start regaling my children with stories that begin " 6 years ago today ( or 5, or 2 , or ...1) my belly was SO fat." The older ones are used to it by now, in fact, I dare say they look forward to my silly stories about the creature kicking me from inside, reveling in the fact that I am talking about them. Then we talk about how the doctor made a little cut in my belly and pulled the baby out, announcing with joy "It's a Boy/Girl!" and then how, the baby cried, and Mommy cried, and even Daddy cried, because we were all so happy to finally meet each other. We talk about LOVE. We share hugs and kisses, and lots of shnuggles.

Birthdays are such a happy time in our house. We plan months in advance, and we celebrate much more than just a day. We always start at the beginning, with breakfast. Usually, pancakes with a candle. (this year Curly announced days before her fete that she was "sick of pancakes" [we do eat a lot of pancakes] , and so she blew out a candle on a cinnamon muffin, but otherwise it's pancakes). Sometimes there is a special birthday outfit, and balloons. There are usually about 3 "parties", maybe four if you count the cupcakes I send in to school. There's the day of your birth, which mandates dinner, cake and presents; and then we have your friends over for a playdate/party extravaganza, and then finally the whole dam fam comes over to celebrate on the weekend.

I vow that no matter how old I get, no matter how wrinkled and saggy and "decrepit", I will always, always be joyful on my birthday.

This month (okay, the month that just passed) we celebrated two fabulous birthdays in our house. I am exhausted. First, my sweet Curly Girl turned 5 on 5-5. Margarita anyone? Well yes, but not until we've had a proper tea. Curly had 6 of her best buddies and their favorite Dollies over for a tea party. And I do mean a proper tea. Crazy party mama - that's me, btw - rented table and chairs, china and linen. We decorated with tulle and silks and set to brewing blueberry tea and pink lemonade. There was musical chairs, and ring around the rosy, and hot "teapot" - our own version of hot potato. We ate cucumber tea sandwiches and scones with cream, and finished off with pink creampuffs. Curly was gifted with her very first American Girl doll ( I don't know who is more excited, she or I?!)
Just ten days later the milestone of milestones...Dexter, my baby - turned one. To quote First son - "that was fast". We celebrated this weekend with a grand fete. We decorated with bright colors, cooked up a storm and invited anyone and everyone to join in our glee. It was a great day. Dexter's Godmom arrived from Philfadelphia and helped with all the details, the weather cooperated and I only lost one balloon in the parking lot of Party City. Almost everyone who said they were coming showed up, and most even stayed long enough to see the cake cut. I had lots of cheerful help from friends, family and neighbors, and we had a lot of fun. It was a great day.

I love my children's birthdays. I look forward to them so much. It isn't just because I love to plan a party, although I truly do. Their birthdays mark a day in my life, when life became so much richer, the day they were each born, I was reborn. For me, my child's birthday is a day of thanksgiving. I am just so grateful that God has gifted me with each of these beautiful creatures, I overflow with joy. Who am I that I deserve these blessings? I am not worthy, but I am so grateful - I need to celebrate. Can a party be a prayer? I must say, if I am the one throwing it, it sure can be.

My Curly Girl

I didn't think I would be this sad. To tell the truth, I had taken to joking that when the time came, I would send Curly out the door with a swift kick to her behind and a wave "bu-bye". Today is a big day. I am taking my Curly girl to "Kindergarten Orientation", and while I must say that I am much more well adjusted this time around than I was two years ago when it was First Son's turn and I practically needed to be hospitalized for emotional incompetence, I am still quite melancholy about the whole thing.

I sat on the edge of her bed last night watching her sleep and stroking her sweet little face (so familiar, it's like looking in a mirror), thinking about how quickly my little baby has become a little girl. She has always been fiercely independent, even as a baby she preferred to fall asleep in her crib rather than in your arms. She marches to the beat of her own drummer for sure. She is an amazing personality: so kind, and nurturing - she takes care of everyone; she is generous and easy going - often willing to give in to her big brother rather than fight, but by no means a push-over (she will kick your a-- and not look back if you wrong her); she is smart as a whip, but uninterested in being outwardly academic; Curly loves to play teacher but is wary of anyone who tries to teach her; she worries about who she will someday marry and whether she will be a good Mom - I tell her that she will be an amazing Mom. She crawls into bed with me in the mornings after her Dad has left for the day and she swings her little arm over my shoulders. We play "baby animals" - a game of our own creation where everybody, even the mammals, hatch from an egg made of blankets. She lets me brush her hair. She loves cooking shows, Rachael Ray is her favorite, but she'll watch the Barefoot Contessa too, because it's my favorite. She helps me in the kitchen - an expert at egg cracking and floor scrubbing. My Curly Girl loves intensely. She gives her whole self. She loves Jesus, and she loves Mary. She gives glory to God for all things. She falls asleep each and every night with a book in her arms, yet claims ignorance of the alphabet. She sings songs -her own compositions, loud and out of key. She is polite; and she loves to clean the bathroom sink. She has a smile that could melt an iceberg, and a deadly stare that will bore holes through a steel fortress. She is my scrumptious Curly Girl, my pride and joy.

Next year the big yellow taxi will come and take two of my loves away. When First Son was a baby and made the big move from bedside bassinet to bedroom baby crib Hubby lamented that he was "leaving for college", I thought it was silly at the time, but now I think I know what he meant. Our precious children are ours for such a short time.

I am happy for my Curly Girl. She is going to adore school. She will make tons of friends, and she will learn to read. She will continue blazing her own trail, and at the end of each day I will meet her at the corner and we will hold hands and talk about all of her adventures.

My little baby...such a big girl, I hope she always knows how much I adore her.

Stay Little

It started with a pair of pink converse all-stars. A cute, little pair of sneakers adorning a tiny pair of feet attached to an adorable little girl about two years old. She reminded me so much of my Curly girl, even though she had straight black hair, olive skin and would certainly grow up to be bilingual. It was the outfit. She had on these little cargo pants with a satin lined belt and a pink calico print shirt with a ruched top. She finished it off with the pink converse and an infectious smile. Well, it was the outfit and I think also the way you could tell just by looking at her that she was so....loved. Anyway, it touched my heart.

It may have also had something to do with the pediatrician mentioning that Curly's upcoming physical will also be her Kindergarten physical.

It was well documented here that I had a very hard time sending First Son off to school. And to be honest, even though his school experience has been nothing short of spectacular, I still regard the big yellow taxi with a bit of resentment. Still, I thought that sending Curly off to school would be no big deal. I even joked about it, that when it came to be her turn to get on the bus I would wave with a big fat smile.

Why then, did I cry myself to sleep last night? I don't want to send her off. I want to keep her! Why can't they just stay little??? She's my only girl, I am going to miss her terribly. 5 years is just not enough time!!! I want to soak her up, bathe in her sweet innocence, and not share her for 6 hours a day with anyone! I want to dress her up in cute pink converse sneakers and bounce her on my knee.

Now, my good friends JD and JT assure me that "The Secret of Life is Enjoying the Passage of Time" ....I try, but I don't know.....

It's going to be another long summer.

R. I. P.

Well, I knew that this day would come. I have dreaded it, but I knew it was inevitable. Today the first of our "Princess Fish" has croaked. So much for kissing a frog.
I changed the water in their tank this morning and very shortly after one of the fish started acting really zany. Zipping around more than usual, and upon closer inspection, swimming...upside down. Then it would swim to the top of the tank and sink back down. It did this a few times. Finally it stopped moving and just lay there belly up. Poor fish.
I dreaded telling my Curly girl, but it had to be done. I sat her on my lap and asked her if she knew about heaven, she said "oh, yeah." Then I told her that one of her fish had gone to heaven. She did her best Sarah Bernhart impression, but she was faking it big time ( I have seen more sincere tears spew from those eyes when she doesn't like her dinner). Still, she was genuinely concerned. We scooped the body out of the tank, headed to the bathroom, said a few nice words about our precious Princess Fish and then finished her off with a royal flush.

Later in the day Grandma was here, and Curly Girl decided to break the news. "Grandma, one of my fish went to heaven today." (G-ma was forewarned) Grandma was very sympathetic, so much so that Curly felt the need to cheer her up. "it's okay Grandma, we will get to see her again, when we go to heaven!....But you first."

My sweet, tell it like it is, Curly Girl. Well, I am off to the pet store now.

Meet the Princess Fish

My sweet Curly girl is not herself lately. Oh sure, she's sweet, and charming, funny and clever...but there's something off. She is regressing...using baby talk, and giving us a really hard time about going to bed. She hasn't been able to put it into words, other than to say that she wishes that she didn't have to sleep alone. She does have a point, There are the three boys in one room, and Hubby & I in the other. We've tried to explain to her how cool it is to have your own room, to point out how happy she should be to not have to share her stuff, etc. She points out that she would be more than happy to share her things with...a girl baby. Oh sweet child. We are full up on babies at the moment, and you are breaking my heart. I love my little Dexter, but yeah, I would have loved a girl baby. I won't say that another baby is out of the question....sometime in the future, a few years from now, maybe. Right now we are at maximum capacity.

My friend Mom2Two suggested we get a...dog. Um, yeah, no. I don't think so. I can barely keep up with the massive amount of dirt generated by 4 kids, I don't think a yapping, peeing, shedding dog is going to make things easier. Then we thought...what about...fish? Fish? I can do that. So, I took Curly girl off to the pet store where we announced a dire need for some "girl" fish. Sure, the pet store lady looked at us strangely when we stated our desire for sex-specific fish, but with only the slightest wink she was on board with our plan! I decided to go for the whole shebang, and get the tank with the filter and the whole bit because really, I just don't have the time to be cleaning out fish tanks. I barely have time to clean the two toilets in my house you know?

So now there are three princess fish sleeping in Curly's room with her. Their names are Cinderella, Snow White and....Ariel, because duh...they live in the water.

So far Curly has been doing a little bit better going to sleep in her room, but she still wants to look at all of her baby pictures all the time, and has asked me to hold her "like a baby". I don't know if it is the two little brothers in the house, or more likely the fact that she has started preschool three times a week. My little Curly Girl is fiercely independent, and very mature, but unlike most other kids she is deliberately trying to avoid growing up. I know how she feels. Hubby just called to tell me that we can't actually afford gas or groceries this week and ended the call by saying "have a good day". Yeah, right. Curly may be on to something. Growing up does kind of suck.

I am doing my best to give out lots of extra hugs and kisses, (which may explain my chapped lips). I am spending a little extra time shnuggling my baby girl, reading stories, playing games. Something is going on inside her beautiful head, I just don't know for sure what it is. I love my sweet girl, and I want her to be happy. At least now we have an excuse to play our fishy face game all the time!

You say it's your Birthday!!!

When I was a kid I went to a birthday party at Burger King. It was a boy's party and mostly what I remember about it was that I was handed a cheeseburger, even though to this day I do not like fast food cheeseburgers, but prefer hamburgers; and that my father commented that these types of parties were for mothers who were too lazy to have a party the right way, at home. Of course, I don't think dear old Dad ever did much in the way of planning and executing a birthday party for me or any of the others, but nonetheless, his comment seems to have stuck in my craw.

I cannot bring myself to host my children's parties "out". I thought about it, and even did a bit of research for Curly's Birthday this year. I thought it might be a good idea, since the day of her fourth would also be the start of my 38th week. Despite my best intentions, I just could not do it. I had to have it at home. The thing is though, I am not a one trip to the party store, order some pizzas and bash the pinata kind of partier. No, sir, not me. Party planning is my hobby, and I can take a theme to the extreme. Seriously, I live for my children's birthdays, and begin planning months, not even weeks, in advance. I am already thinking about Paddy boy's 2nd, and it's 7 months away! When my kids look back upon past birthdays they don't think in terms of "my third, my fourth, my fifth, etc." but rather, "My dinosaur birthday, my bulldozer birthday, my princess birthday, etc. "

I figure that I spend probably about as much as I would if I was hosting the party at some "venue", so it isn't about saving money (although if I factor in leftovers as part of the equation I could convince hubby that we make out on the deal) Hosting a party at home gives me so many more options to be creative, to have my kid's input, and to be flexible with dates, timing , and boy/girl appropriateness! I like being able to host the parents just as comfortably as the kids (rather than having a bunch of grown-ups standing around the perimeter of the room holding coats, and hoping for an extra half-slice of cold pizza to come their way); and I especially like the fact that no matter what the theme is, my kid's party will be completely different from anything any of their friends have. I can't tell you how many parties we have been to at the local ice cream shop, they all begin to blur and run into each other.

It is a lot of work putting together a fun kid's party, but I love it. This past week I have been up to my elbows in butterflies every night. I decided finally to compromise, have the party for Curly at home, but keep it small. Usually I have two parties for my kids, one with their friends and one with the family. This year I decided to have just one, invite the family and just the four or five friends that she plays with regularly. My intention of course, was to keep it "simple". The only thing is that my "simple" is most people's "elaborate". Listen, it's not Curly's fault that we're getting a new baby so close to her birthday, she still deserves to have a memorable "butterfly birthday" right? That's what I thought too.

Anyway, there was no giant cardboard castle, and although I looked into it, there was no live butterfly release, thereby keeping it "simple" according to my definition. There were butterfly games, butterfly hot dogs, butterfly cookies, and of course, butterfly cupcakes. There was "nectar" served in adorable butterfly cups, and a butterfly pinata, oh yeah - and there was beer for the grown-ups. (come to think of it, that is probably what Dad's chief gripe was about the Burger King party! LOL.) Now that the date has come and gone and the phone calls of congratulations are rolling in, I can sit back and relax. Well, I would like to get the butterfly thank yous in the mail before I have to start sending birth announcements, but other than that it should be smooth sailing.

I have been told, repeatedly that I have a special talent for these parties, and that I should try to make it a lucrative endeavor, but I honestly don't know if I could put all the work into it if I wasn't doing it for one of my sweet cherubs. No matter how tired I have been, and let me tell you, I am freakin tired these days, I find that when they need me, I am able to rally up the energy. I mean after all, they are what it's all about right? Plus, the great big hugs I get at the end of the day make it all worth while.

Well, first Son's birthday is quickly approaching in August, so I had better put on my thinking cap (yeah right, as if I don't already have a plan....)

Sick Day

A Mom doesn't ever get a day off, and she certainly doesn't get any sick time, which unfortunately, is not to say that she doesn't get sick.

Yesterday, First son was home in honor of MLK, Jr. After a lengthy discussion about whether or not the esteemed civil rights leader was indeed a member of a royal family, we decided to embark on some important errands which are most easily accomplished with First Son home from school. Namely, a haircut, lunch with my niece (a teacher, and therefore also off from work), and a trip to the eyeglass store to mend the twisted arm of the famed spectacles.

About a half an hour before we were set to leave the house I was hit by a wave of acute melancholy. This feeling came over me, and I suddenly didn't want to go out. I didn't want to meet my niece for lunch, I didn't want to do anything but crawl into my bed, pull the covers up over my head and maybe...cry. I thought the sudden onset a bit strange but otherwise I figured it was a touch of depression, something which I simply cannot submit to, but which occasionally rears its ugly head. I decided to ignore the feeling as best as I could, and so I laced up my sneakers, made sure all of the cherubs had warm hats and mittens and we headed out the door.

Sitting in the barber shop watching as First Son lost most of his overgrown locks to a #3, #4 buzz combination, I felt myself sighing heavily. Curly girl was talking to me, being as charming as ever, and I had to make a gargantuan effort to stay focused and involved. I was zoning out big time.

My niece and I decided to head to Panera Bread for lunch, since it is a favorite, and conveniently located at the mall, the site of my final eyeglass errand. We sat at the table with scrumptious soups and salads and amazing chewy breads before us - and I just couldn't bring myself to eat any of it. I forced a few bites, but I just wasn't interested. This was strange for sure, because as I said, Panera is a favorite, and lack of appetite never seems to be a symptom of my moodiness. Nevertheless, I asked for my food to be packed up "to go". I mentioned to my niece that I didn't feel good, but I couldn't explain anymore than that. I just didn't feel right. I mean, my head didn't hurt, my throat wasn't sore, I wasn't nauseated or crampy, I just felt this overwhelming need to go home and get in bed. I decided to give in this one time, forgo the eyeglass store, and just head home. Boy am I glad I did.

We were just a few blocks from the mall when I needed to pull over to the side of the road and...get sick. That makes it sound a lot more neat and compartmentalized than the reality was, but I won't go into gory details. We all have our own data bank of personal experience with the stomach flu on which we can draw to fill in whatever colorful aspects of this story I might leave out. Suffice it to say that it was gross, and painful, and not a little bit scary for the three small people seated behind me. (Well, two of them anyway, Paddy boy was oblivious to what was happening, as he was entertaining himself by pulling his hat down over his eyes and laughing hysterically). At one point it became quite frightening as I took my foot off of the brake pedal for a moment only to realize that I had never had the chance to put the car into park, luckily I found the brake again, just before we crashed into a tree.

Curly girl announced that as soon as we got home I was to go straight to bed and let her take care of me. She then wondered aloud about exactly who was going to drive us home, as clearly I was in no condition and her feet don't quite reach the pedals. First Son helped out by locating the roll of paper towels that I always keep in my car for emergencies. Thankfully, I pulled myself together and was able to get us all home safely. I got Paddy boy into his crib and turned on a movie (Thank God for Baby Neptune) while the other two played nicely in the boys' room. I called hubby and begged him to come home from work and then I crawled into my bed and vowed to stay there. That lasted until about 1 AM, when Paddy boy started puking...followed by First Son at 5:30AM. Hubby has since spent almost the entire day either on the porcelain throne or passed out on the couch. Curly girl? Well, someone's got to take care of the rest of us.

All in all I am thankful that it was just a stomach virus. As much as it sucks to be taken down by a bout of violent vomit, there is a definite end, you know it won't, it can't, go on forever. Depression is much more daunting, and I have had enough of it. If you've never had the pleasure of experiencing a serious case of the blues, now you can imagine...it's kind of like the feeling you get right before you puke.

The weather here this morning was not so great, kind of like a monsoon. A good morning for sleeping in. Curly and I spent a good long while in the most delicious snuggle. We were wrapped up in down covers, entwined in a full body double hug. We laid there for quite a while just enjoying each other's company. I said to my Curly girl "do you know what I am?" She shook her head yes, so I said "what?" She answered "A genius!" I laughed and pulled her close as she went on, "a genius, and so pretty". I was going to say I was the luckiest Mommy in the world...

A lovely, Barbie-Free Day

Curly girl, her Damnma (Grandma) and I had a lovely day today. I planned a trip for a group of us to head down to our local town hall auditorium to see a local production of "The Nutcracker". You see, Curly Girl goes to "banarina school" and she loves it. I found out that if I could round up a group of at least 10 people, I could take her to see REAL ballerinas for just $5 a pop! ($26 if you don't have 9 friends!) I called just about everyone I know that has little girls with ballerina and/or princess leanings, and soon I had a group of 15. I planned the outing for Wednesday, so that we could go right after "banarina school" (what can I say, I'm into themes!)

Curly girl was so excited, sitting in her leotard and tutu just waiting for the curtain to rise. (ok, so it didn't actually rise, it moved slowly across the proscenium on a rope, but you get the picture!) At first when I told her about the outing to see ballerinas, she thought that it would be a movie, however when she spotted one of the costumed dancers in the hallway pre-show, she was beside herself with anticipation. I was loving every minute of her awe and wonderment, and I think her Grandma was too. Finally the performance started, and she was mesmerized. She sat so quietly, watching every move the dancers made. When she saw a part she really liked, her eyes grew as wide as her smile and her hands clasped each other with glee. Oh, to be three and a half!

I looked around me and noticed most of the other kids watching just as intently. Then, I heard one child nearby whisper not so quietly to her Mom, "I guess, Barbie isn't coming?". Huh? I had heard other whisperings of the name Barbie before the show started, but I didn't really pay much attention to it, considering the crowd I was with. Apparently there is a Barbie Nutcracker movie, and a lot of these kids were expecting to see not "Clara's Dream", but "Barbie's." I was proud at that moment that thus far I have kept my Curly-girl Barbie-free, and therefore preserved a little bit of the innocence of her childhood. I don't exactly forbid Barbie, I just forbid anyone from buying her for my daughter. I am not a feminist taking a stance on this issue, not at all, Curly girl is a princess of her own choosing. I just don't like the doll much. I had some when I was a kid, and I didn't have much interest in playing with them. However, if the time comes that my Curly girl expresses an independent interest in the Mattel wonder woman, I will concede because it will have been her choice.
The funny thing is, if you've ever really looked at a real ballet dancer there are some distinctive physical characteristics. Let's just say, Barbie would never fit into the Sugarplum Fairy costume, her cup would runneth over!