BARBIE'S DREAMHOUSE
I’m smack in the middle of one of those tough life transitions that are right up there with changing jobs or getting a divorce: I’m moving. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that I’m moving. I’m also grateful that I’m gainfully self employed and enjoying a happy marriage of 12 years. But moving is Just. So. Hard. The main thing keeping me going: I’m moving into a beautiful house that better accommodates my family’s ever growing during the pandemic space needs. The move has created a daunting list of chores and activities. Packing, painting, home repairs, yardwork. I even had to power wash again, and this time it was cold and exceptionally muddy. When I start to get overwhelmed, I pull out the listing pictures of the new house. I stare at the views and the space and I find new motivation.
Looking at the new house, I get that same feeling I did when I bought my very first house. This place looks way too nice to be mine. It feels like I must just be visiting. It’s the same way I used to feel about Barbie’s dreamhouse. You know the one- bright pink and several towering stories high? With rooms galore and even a jetted spa. As a wide eyed seven year old, I would go over to my little friend Megan’s house and marvel at her real estate prowess. Megan’s Barbie house took up a big section of her room and topped out at over three feet tall. There was ample room for Barbie’s impressive wardrobe of clothes. She could entertain Ken and Skipper in style, with a gourmet kitchen and formal dining room. And don’t even get me started on the pink corvette parked outside! I spent hours in imaginative and envious play with Megan and the dreamhouse. I dreamed of having my own dreamhouse.
My own barbies were not nearly so well accommodated for. My grandmother had given me several barbies over the years, for holidays and birthdays. She had also given me a little red suitcase set that said GO GO! across the front in swirly font that ended with a whimsical crayon logo. I cherished the two suitcases, a sophisticated matching pair complete with tiny locks. It made perfect sense that the barbies would take up residence in the smaller of the two suitcases. Its frilly red liner doubled as a posh red carpet, like the one at the movie theater. When open, the lid of the suitcase made a nice closet/dressing room while the deeper bottom acted as the main living quarters. Not fancy, but a comfortable place to carry out the many dramas the dolls got up to.
My daughter found the makeshift Barbie condo in the garage a couple of weeks ago. I had kept it all of these years, thinking I would give it to her one day. She brought it into her room and played with the dolls for a while. I’ve never bought her any Barbies, feeling like they just didn’t send the right messages about what a woman’s body should look like. She jumped right into the world of the red suitcase condo, dressing and undressing the dolls. Later that day she asked if she could have the suitcase and its contents, and I surprised myself by saying no. Even though it was no Barbie dreamhouse, the memories of my makeshift dollhouse were far too precious for it to get beat up and shipwrecked in the sea of my daughter’s other toys. I found that it wasn’t the dolls I really cared about. It was that suitcase dollhouse, and the memories of the imagination it sparked in me, that felt so precious.
After a hard day of packing and organizing, I pulled up the photos of the new house again. This new place is no makeshift suitcase condo. It’s spacious and comfortable and everything I want in a home. I thought about what my seven-year-old self would say about it. Would she be impressed? Would she be proud of me, saying “I knew we could do it!” Even at that age, she was painfully aware of scarcity and the hard realities of finances. But I don’t think she would say any of those things. I think she would look at me with her wry, seven-year-old scrutiny and tell me “Wow, this is nice. But where is the Barbie house?”
Many of our childhood dreams are relinquished and replaced with new ones. Yet we can still find the essence of those youthful desires in our present-day hopes and dreams. They tell us something about who we are and what we really want. A warm, inviting home has always been important to me, even if the packaging looks very different now. I see the link between my past and present selves, and it gives insight into what drives me now. I find great joy in fulfilling my grown up dreams, while acknowledging their roots in my childhood.
What do you remember wishing for when you were little? What were your favorite activities? Your deepest desires? What can they tell you about what drives you, and what you dream of now?
