My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

Barbie Roadkill: Made in the USA

It’s never a dull moment around here. Red has been keeping us up until midnight or 1am this week. She’s teething – all four first molars at once. Her gums look angry. Which match her mood. She had her 15 month appointment with the pediatrician today and had her final two vaccinations until she’s five. I wish she was old enough to understand how much that rules. Instead, she just cried, poor thing. So tonight’s theme will be Beer for Momma and an Orajel/Tylenol cocktail for Red. Maybe then we’ll both get some sleep.

Dusty’s brain never stops and frankly, I don’t see how it hasn’t exploded yet. She’s currently obsessed with tags and the manufacturer's country of origin of all her crap. Every single stuffed animal is made in China. I know; she checked every one of them. We recently found something that had been made in Indonesia and, oh! the excitement! I can’t tell you how thrilled she was to not see “Made in China.” Every piece of clothing has to be inspected and now, every time she plays with something, the “Made in” stamp has to be checked before she plays with it. As a baby, Dusty preferred playing with the tags more than the toy. Now, she reads them.

Reads. Yes, Dusty is reading! It’s slow but coming along. Her new teachers are amazed at her smarts. Frankly, I think this says more about the other kids’ lack of “readiness” for all things kindergarten (because, oh I don’t know, they watch a gazillion hours of television and sit in front of video games all fucking day?) than in Dusty’s amazing brilliance. I mean, really, all kids should be, taking into account their various differences, at Dusty’s level of knowledge. Or, to rephrase, all four and five year olds have to potential to know what Dusty knows. The kid can count to 100. She recognizes the Eiffel Tower and wowed my mother the other night by pointing out a photograph of Paris because of the tower looming in the background. She’s enjoying a book about the artist Christo right now that my husband brought home from the university library. They spent untold hours absorbing the strange whimsy of municipal buildings across the world shrouded in fabric. “It’s like a big present! Who gets to open it?” The umbrella project is her favorite even though there’s nothing to open.


It’s Spider and Roadkill season. Have you noticed? Every spider in the universe is coming inside to avoid the chilly night air and Dusty’s against it.

“Spider in the bathtub!” she’ll yell. The bathroom must be 100% spider free before she’ll pee. Large or small, she’s Spider Inspector on top of Made In China Inspector. She’s a busy girl, is Dusty.

In terms of roadkill, it’s just been twice as much as normal. Twice as many deer, foxes, raccoons, possums, weasels, skunks and whatever those weird lumps of fur are that can’t be identified. One of them I was able to identify, but it wasn’t what I was expecting.

On our way home the other evening, I said to Dusty,

“Guess what I saw in the middle of the road today?”
“A Barbie.”
“Oh no! That’s not good.” She was quite upset at this, “I thought you were gonna say ‘deer’.”
“Do you think some girl is missing her Barbie right now?”
“Yes! Awww, can we go back and get it?”
“No. The road was too busy with traffic.”
“Maybe her mom will get her a new Barbie.”
“I’m sure she will.”


And, these are the best fucking cookies in the universe! Think: Girl Scout Thin Mints collides with a York Peppermint Pattie. Damn! I strongly urge you to rush out and buy them right now so they’ll keep making them. [ed: for some reason that link isn't working. Go right now to You'll be glad you did.]


3:16 p.m. ::
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