Nothing really makes you aware of how much you should do around your house like being told you have 48 hours before you have a baby. I realize I'm past due and for the last couple weeks, I've technically been in the "any day now" category, but somehow it's different when you have a date set in stone. I guess it just makes it much more real, and you start counting the hours vs what you should be getting done. I could be cleaning my house, since I know it will be a long time before I'm up to doing that again. I could plan a fancy dinner for Jacob and I, since I know I won't have the time, energy, or desire to spend a ton of time grocery shopping, prepping and cooking a meal for...a really long time. I could make sure all the sheets are washed and the fridge has enough food for whoever will be staying here while we're at the hospital. I just....can't. I can't bring myself to do any of those things. As smart as I know all of that would be, I really want to be selfish and enjoy my last day of just being me and the dogs. I want to lay around with them and love on them, since all of our worlds are about to change. When Jacob comes home from work, I just want to sit around with him and have a nice dinner (which I don't feel like making), because I have no clue when we can do that again without interruptions. BUT Jacob went to work, and I'm not motivated, so here I am. Spending entirely too much time playing around on the computer. Wishing someone would just show up at my house with lunch for me [Chipotle burrito bowl with chicken, pico, tomatoes and cheese, please. And about 8 dashes of Tabasco, thanks].
The thought of being a mom has had me thinking for several weeks now, about what kind of mom I'll be, and what kind of legacy I'll leave to my kids. More specifically, I've been thinking about material possessions I could give them that will mean a lot to them. This had me going through my box of stuff from my parent's house. Let's just say, I forgot what a weird kid I was. Below are a few of the things I came across that made me realize what a "creative" child I was. I included these because I could easily get to them in the giant box of stuff, and was able to pull them out and take pictures. There are other things, buried deeper in the box (and maybe my soul), that weren't available to be featured but I figured I'd give them an honorable mention:
- Amber--Amber was a Cabbage Patch Kid doll that I got when I was little. I think she was my 2nd of 5 CPK dolls. She was special because, unlike most Cabbage Patch Kid dolls, she was not fabric, but rubber, because she was meant to be a bath toy. She came in only a robe (which now, that I think of it, is weird), and I did not hesitate to put her in the tub with me. I'm assuming that somewhere on the box, in small print, were the instructions "DO NOT SUBMERGE IN WATER" because water seeped into every joint and filled her so that she weighed about 20 lbs. After my bath was over, I remember performing both the Heimlich Maneuver and CPR on Amber, only to have about 10% of the water come out. I laid her out on a towel for several days, since my mom didn't want me returning a water-filled baby doll to my room, but nothing came of it. For years afterwards, I would occasionally pick up Amber and could tell by her weight there was still some water in there. If you shook her, you could hear it sloshing around. Like I said, she's buried deep in the box from my parents, but if I had to guess, I'd say there's still a little water left in that rubber body. Like a conch shell, I bet if you hold your ear to her, you can hear the ocean. I am also completely positive that the entire inside of her is black and green with mildew.
- Spice Girls Memorabilia--I'll be honest. I was a Spice Girls fan. As much as I made fun of them and said they sucked, I totally loved their songs. You put "Wannabe" on right now and I can sing every single word to you. So during adolescence, when all of my friends were too cool for the Spice Girls, we all thought it would be "hilarious" and "ironic" to buy a bunch of their stuff, watch SpiceWorld, and learn all their songs. I think they were probably all closet fans too. Anyways, this attempt at irony fell during a period that included my birthday, so for that birthday I got Spice Girl dolls (more on that later), stationary, a watch, and a journal. I still have all of it. And I wore that watch with pride until the battery died like two months later. What the heck? Now that I think about it, that was the worst watch battery ever.
- My book--As some of you may remember, I went through a phase in childhood of feeling like I should be both writer and illustrator of all children's books. What I'm about to admit here, no one else knows. Except for maybe Hunter. So when I was little, maybe 5 or 6, Angie gave a gift to Hunter and I that I thought was THE COOLEST PRESENT EVER. I don't remember the details exactly, but from what I recall, it was a book-writing kit. You had several pages with a large blank space to draw an illustration, and lines below it where you wrote the story for that page. Once the whole thing was done, including the cover, which you got to draw out, I believe you were supposed to mail it in and they'd create it for you. Like I said, Angie sent this gift to Hunter AND I, with strict instructions that we do it together. Well, this just simply would not do. One day, when Hunter wasn't around, I took the book kit into my room and spent HOURS writing up a story and drawing the pictures out. Not to brag, but I was actually really ahead of my time, because the story (as I remember it), was about standing up to bullies, and being anti-bully. It may or may not have been the exact storyline as The Berenstain Bears and the In Crowd. Of course, I was writing from my own experience, so the characters were people and not bears, but you get the idea. So after spending hours finishing and perfecting what I was SURE would be a Caldecott Award Winner, I was overwhelmed with guilt for writing the book without my brother's help, despite strict instructions to the contrary. In an effort to hide my transgression, I shoved all the papers into a duffel bag (it was gray and had a red ribbon on the handle) and threw that in the back corner of my closet. Occasionally, when I could deal with the guilt and shame of it, I would pull the bag out and go through my story and admire my work. I even remember thinking "what a shame this masterpiece can never see the light of day." I was a sophisticated child, I guess. Anyways, I guess the present wasn't as exciting to Hunter because he never noticed it had gone missing or that we hadn't written it. But, much like Edgar Allan Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart, it has haunted me to this day. I used to worry about someone stumbling across it in my closet, scolding me for writing it without Hunter. Although, I know once they read it, they'd be so awe-struck by my brilliance they'd understand I couldn't be held back by some juvenile. Anyways, despite the guilt, I've hung onto that story forever, and it's buried deep within my
floorboardstoy box. Phew. That feels good to talk about.
- My bag of Barbie heads--It's no exaggeration to say I was obsessed with Barbies as a kid. I'm not sure what age I got into them, but I stayed obsessed with them much later in life than should be allowed. Unfortunately, Barbies aren't build to withstand CONSTANT playing, and several of my Barbies suffered the unfortunate fate of their heads coming off. Any of you who had Barbies are probably well aware that once a Barbie head comes off, it won't go back on normally. The only way to attach the head back to the body is by ramming it all the way down her neck, making Barbie look like she has no neck, and may have cerebral palsy. Some of my Barbies suffered this fate, and I basically never played with them again. In addition to the lack of mobility they now had with their injured necks and heads, they just looked weird, and so they never came out of the toy box. Once I realized those Barbies were basically worthless to me, I vowed to never try to put the head back on once it came off. Instead of throwing out the Barbies, I kept a collection of the broken bodies and severed heads in separate bags from the healthy Barbies. It became my quest to figure out how to make them whole again, but obviously I never succeeded. It's one of the greater failures in my life. Anyways, over the years I've held onto those Barbies. They remain in my Barbie box (still in their separate bag, of course) and I'll continue to search for the cure. If any of you are wondering why I have so many severed Barbie heads, there are 2 reasons. 1) Like I said, played with my Barbies CONSTANTLY. Playing also involved grooming them to keep them in tip-top shape. I guess I just brushed their hair too hard when trying to make them look perfect for Ken. 2) God gave me a delightfully devilish oldest sister in Angie. One day while she was visiting us, I came home to find Angie VERY pleased with herself, telling me it was time for a head hunt. She'd ripped the heads off some of the Barbies, put them on toothpicks and then stuck them in the yard like Lord of the Flies for me to hunt down. It was traumatizing, but it makes for a pretty good story, I guess. It also adds to the number of heads in my Barbie bag that need to be fixed.
Troll Doll--Like most kids in the 90s, I had a few troll dolls. I have no idea why I did, but I did. You could probably make the argument that I had watched so much Full House that the Olsen twins had seeped into my subconscious, making me susceptible to the lure of the Troll doll. No matter what the cause, I ended up with a handful of Troll Dolls. For some reason, I was EXTREMELY bothered by the fact that my boy Troll doll had long hair, despite this (and the bejeweled belly) being their trademark. I took matters into my own hands to rectify the situation.
He was obviously never the same, but at least I felt like he finally fit the proper gender role. Minus the belly ring, of course. You'll soon see that this obsession over my doll hair continues into a bizarre compulsion..
Fluffy--I have nothing to do with the oddity that is Fluffy. He was given to me as a gift for my 13th (?) birthday, and I really loved him. I still do, actually. I think I slept with him in bed with me all through high school and finally realized that was too weird to take to college. Anyways, I included him because he's a pretty strange stuffed animal. I never really knew what he was, I always just assumed a fly. Not exactly your typical sweet toy to cuddle.
Spice Girl Dolls-- Like I said, I went through a Spice Girl phase. So when I was given these dolls for my birthday by my friends, I was all "LOL, they suck!", but I could never bring myself to open the box to take them out. Maybe one of these days I'll make billions off them and you'll all be realizing how wise young Hayley was.
Take a good look inside Posh's box. THERE IS A POSH DOLL THAT COMES WITH THE POSH DOLL. How freaking meta is that? I wish they'd given that doll a Posh doll. Created some infinite wormhole of Posh Dolls.
Pre-Pubescent Barbie Boy --I have no clue who this guy is. Lemme correct that. I know he's the preteen boy counterpart to the preteen Barbie sibling. Not Skipper, but the younger one. Crap. Hang on, I'll ask my friend, Google..........TODD. Okay, her name was Stacie, she was Barbie and Skipper's younger sister and this guy is her twin brother, Todd.
I'm pretty sure Todd either grew up to be a choir director or a murderer. Maybe both...
Consulate Barbie--A little background info here. Around the time I was getting to the end of my Barbie phase, my dad came home from work one day, taunting me about some gift he had for me. He said he'd gotten it from someone at work and he wanted me to have it. Prior to this, the only gifts he brought me home from work were post-it notes and a heart-shaped calculator with different colored gems for buttons, so I had VERY high expectations. I pretty much assumed he was coming home with a bag of emeralds and rubies. After what seemed like endless days of him teasing me with this elusive gift he had at his office, he finally brought it home for me.
Goldie Hawn Barbie--Here's where it gets a little weird. If it hadn't already. So I went through a phase-much like my need to edit and add to children's books-where I liked to change my Barbies' appearances to make them more interesting. Sometimes I just changed them to mix it up, and other times I changed them in order to make them look like someone specifically. Here we have Goldie Hawn:
Time Lapse Sickness Barbie -- For whatever macabre reason, I decided to make a progression of progressively sicker Barbies. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.
Paula Cole Barbie--Many of you may not remember Paula Cole. She was a singer in the 90s who had a couple of hits; "Where have all the Cowboys Gone?" and "I Don't Want to Wait" are the two I remember. Those songs meant nothing to me, and I found her voice to be pretty annoying, but her hygiene made quite the impact on me. I guess she was known to be a pretty big hippie, and it was common knowledge she didn't shave her armpits. That factoid really resonated with me.
Homemade Spice Girls --So between these last two, I'm honestly not sure which I'll be prouder to pass on to my child. Like we've already addressed, I had a bit of an obsession with the Spice Girls. I saw how awesome the dolls were that I received as gifts, but I knew I could do better.
Kwanzaa Baby --I don't want to put too much into this next doll, but if I had to describe her, I'd say she is a representation of my life's work. I spent HOURS. DAYS. WEEKS on this doll. And you know what? I wouldn't take back a second of it. So let me describe how she came to be. This was a Cabbage Patch Kid doll who was special because she came with hair tools and accessories and you were supposed to have fun with her hair. Obviously this was right up my alley. Her hair, rather than be the typical nylon or whatever doll hair normally is, was made of essentially pipe cleaners, so that you could manipulate it and curl it or crimp it or do whatever. I loved this doll. There came a point, however, that the braiding, crimping and curling lost their excitement for me, and I wanted more. So I came up with the idea of turning her hair into something special. Remember those kits that had all the tiny little plastic beads/tubes that you set on templates of different shapes and then ironed over them so the tops melted together and it became like a heart or star or some other multi-colored shape? I know that's a terrible description, but these things:
I still don't really get what the point of those things were, but I loved them. And I had a HUGE bucket of those beads. So to make Kwanzaa baby, I decided to give her dreadlocks using these beads. It was a looooooong and tedious process, but I think the final product speaks for itself.
Well there it is. The legacy I'll be leaving to my children. The important things they'll inherit and one day fight over. I get it, I have some pretty incredible toys. Also, if anyone has a good therapist they'd recommend, I should probably discuss what I've done to most of these dolls...