Posted: May 31, 2012 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: James Patterson, Queen's Jubilee, Rick Riordian, summer reading lists, summer vacation, tamoxifen, The Witch & Wizard series |
Good-bye, 4th grade! Adios, 7th grade!
It’s the last day of school in our little corner of the world, and there was much smiling and cavorting this morning in my house. Forget the Queen’s upcoming Jubilee or the Summer Olympics– there’s no celebration in the world that matches the unbridled joy of the last day of school. The entire summer, with all its laziness and promise, awaits.The official countdown has been on for days, of course, with my little darlings and our best-friend/teacher-at-the-jail-school quizzing each other constantly to make sure each one of the gleeful trio knows just how many days of imprisonment were left in the 2012 school year. They do this every year, snickering to themselves as we approach single-digit days left, while I roll my eyes and wonder how I’m going to amuse these monkeys all summer.
This is the first year that I haven’t approached the end of school with a bit of dread. I’m quite happy about that. Usually, I get a little panicky at the idea of 10 weeks of unscheduled sloth. I’m a creature of habit who likes a routine, and summer is anything but structured.
This year, however, I don’t mind the idea of unstructured time. In fact, it’s probably a really good thing — for all of us.
I’ll keep some of the same routines — swallowing my daily dose of Tamoxifen with my cup of coffee, watering plants, going to the gym — while letting the rest of them go. No alarm clocks other than a hungry little piggie requesting breakfast, no lunches to pack, no carpool to drive.
I’ll make my kids groan by insisting they spend a little time every day reading. Macy is finishing up this series, and we’ll soon be on the hunt for the next set of great books. Payton will pretend he’s annoyed by the daily reading time but will soon be swept away by this book or the scuttlebutt about whether there will be another installation in this series. Hopefully I’ll get some reading time in, too, as my list of books to read is long.
We’re kicking off the summer tonight with a celebration of with our sweet friends and their newly minted high school graduate. Corks will be flying and tissues will be passed as we toast this charming young lady who has nothing but great things ahead of her. Tomorrow will be yet another celebration as I turn a year older and celebrate the fact that I’m alive & kicking. It’ll be a total birthday weekend, followed by the first trip of the summer.
We’ll be heading to the Hill Country to enjoy (?) the sights & sounds of Schlitterbahn. My kids have been wanting to do this for years, but being the stick-in-the-mud-amusement-park-hating kind of mom that I am, I’ve always deferred. This year, it’s on! Thanks to some skillful peer pressure exerted by a certain wily trio of suburban at-home moms, my kids will finally get to experience the thrills & chills of this famed waterpark. The crowds! The onslaught of strangers’ kids! The vast bodies of communal water! Oh, joy.
In a couple of weeks my brother and his two kids will be heading to the great state of Texas from the Garden State. We’ll have five days of sun & fun and cousin immersion. What a great way to get the summer started! The day they leave, I leave for my annual trip with the Duke girls. This year we’re going back to Captiva Island, in Florida, for some kid-free R&R.
At some point in the near future we hope to head to Corpus Christi to see our dear friends’ new home. We miss them every day of the week, so getting to see their new house & pool and catch up on some long-overdue visiting will be fun, fun, fun.
Hopefully we’ll be making a return trip to the lovely Tyler, Texas, in July. Tyler is the site of the Texas East Little League All Stars tournament, to which my slugger’s team has earned a trip the last two years. Making it a three-peat would be a great way to close out the Little League experience.
We’ll be taking our annual trip to Salisbury Beach, of course. This trip is eagerly anticipated all year long, and once school ends, the countdown to the beach trip begins in earnest. Escaping the Texas heat and hanging on the beach with our second family is the best part of summer. I’ll be sure to post dispatches from the East Coast on how low the humidity is and how many lobsters we consume, don’t worry.
It’s shaping up to be a great summer.
Posted: April 28, 2012 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: 5K race, cancer fundraisers, family fun run, getting life back after cancer, life after cancer diagnosis, pancreatic cancer, Pancreatica, Sugar Land Memorial Park, Tina Tramples Cancer |
Just one day after my 2-year cancer-versary I had the extreme pleasure of participating in an uplifting, enriching event. The Tina Tramples Cancer 5K race was such a great time I’m still smiling about it. Did I take one photo? No. So please use your imagination. I had every intention of taking pics, but it was rather dark at 5 a.m. when I arrived with scores of other volunteers, and by the time dawn broke, we were too busy setting up tables, registering runners, and getting the race off the ground.
Tina is a friend who is battling pancreatic cancer with extraordinary results. Thanks to her indefatigable spirit and an amazing oncology team, she is making incredible progress against this terrible disease. Tina’s friends decided to organize a 5K to raise money and awareness for Pancreatica, the online group dedicated to furthering research for this woefully underfunded form of cancer.
Do not underestimate the power and dedication of a small group of suburban women. Some are at-home moms, some are in the work force but all were united in staging a grand event. I’ve done a few 5Ks in my day, and this one was first-rate. Organized, efficient, and well-run, this race had a great course and all the elements I love in a race: a cute t-shirt, friendly volunteers, plenty of post-race snacks, and complimentary massage.
What I really loved about this race, though, had nothing to do with shirts or snacks. It had everything to do with community. In our ever-increasingly isolated, fast-paced lives, it was nothing short of amazing to see so many people come together to help out another person. I witnessed this on a smaller scale during my own cancer “journey” and was as amazed by it then as I am now. Is it driven by the inherent goodness that resides inside people, or by the “there by grace of God” fear that cancer could just as easily have set up shop in your body? Does it matter?
I’d intended to walk the race with my favorite girl and my dad, but my girl decided to start running at about the 1/2-mile mark. She was clipping along at a good pace, and I resisted the urge to tell her to pace herself, as the race had barely begun. Instead, I savored the sound of her feet hitting the pavement in perfect stride with mine. I focused on the sun glinting off the golden highlights in her pony-tail. I relished the whoosh of our breath–hers & mine–moving in and out as we chatted our way through the course. I took in the feel of the wind on our faces and the birdsong in our ears on a near-perfect day in our little corner of the world. I smiled at her grim determination as the course grew steep with a small hill. All of these ordinary things come into much sharper focus in the midst of cancer. After days spent battling the dreaded disease and after sleepless nights wondering how this would all turn out, it was nothing but pure joy to be here, to be present, for these ordinary things.
As I ran alongside my dear friend the intrepid Amy Hoover, we chatted about these ordinary things and how spectacularly sweet it is to be here to experience them. I told her I had a very similar thought a few days ago as I slogged through a particularly challenging workout full of some of the things I despise (burpees, and pull-ups, to name a couple). While I don’t like these two exercises, I sure do like the fact that I’m able to do them. That I’m not lying in a hospital bed recovering from a rigorous surgery to rid my body of cancer or cooped up at home after the post-mastectomy infection reared its ugly head. That I’m upright and moving forward and able to push my body and challenge my brain.
My girl pooped out before the 2-mile mark, and I walked with her for a bit before feeling the urge to keep going and finish strong. Confident that she was content to walk the rest of the race with a buddy, I kept running, then doubled back to find my girl and run it out with her. My dad finished behind her, and we celebrated at the finish line.
I stuck around to clean up and close out the race (and to eat a pina colada snow cone), and my dad and Macy went on home. When I got home, I saw that my dad had trained Macy in the family tradition of recording the race details on the bib. Another ordinary thing for which I’m happy to be present.
Posted: April 27, 2012 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: Uncategorized |
I wrote the following on this day last year. On this day two years ago, life as I knew it changed forever, and 730 days later, I’m still searching for the new normal.
I had every intention of writing a new piece today, to commemorate this auspicious day in history, but after re-reading the 2011 post, I’m going to re-run it. While I fully expected that one year out from diagnosis, things wouldn’t be back to normal–especially considering the circuitous path my cancer “journey” took — I would have expected that by year 2, I’d be done. But alas, with cancer, we are never done. I know this to be true, yet I want it to be different and thus, keep finding myself banging my head against that same wall, while the wily beast that is cancer mocks me. Bastard.
Happy 2-year cancer-versary to me.
The Pink Underbelly
One year ago today the bottom fell out of my carefully-ordered life when I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
To say that a lot has happened in the last year is an utter waste of words. I’m not sure there are words to convey how much has happened in the last year; if there are, they are reserved for better writers than I.
Being diagnosed with cancer at age 40 is a shock. Duh. It’s scary and unexpected and unnerving. Double duh. 40 is when we hit our stride. For me, it meant my kids were old enough to not need constant supervision but to still need my guidance. I’d recently discovered tennis, the new love of my life, and had time and freedom to play often. I had a tight circle of friends who knew who they are and where they want to go. I was very comfortable with…
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Posted: April 20, 2012 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: big hair, Couture for the Cause, fashion show, fashion trends, Houston Museum of Natural Science, Page Parkes models, Sperry Topsiders |
Recently this fabulous foursome attended a super fun, chichi event called Project Glam at the Houston Museum of Natural Science. Looks like trouble waiting to happen, right?
Right.

mix965houston.com
It was a night full of fashion, cocktails, accessories, cocktails, eyelash extensions, cocktails, and professional models. Fun!
Being a recent fashion show model myself, it was so fun to watch the pros do their thing. The runway was in the Hall of Paleontology of the museum, and the catwalk was built to encircle the dino bones. Cool.
For some reason, I ended up with several pictures of the male models in their swimwear. Strange.


Love those Sperrys.
Navy & white is always a summer classic, fellas.

The “lady” in black on the left was actually a drag queen. In a skin-tight black unitard and spiked-heel knee-length boots, she/he put on quite a show.
The models did a stellar job of looking bored out of their minds. I love it! 
The female models’ hair was teased up sky-high, as Big Texas Hair should be.
The male models’ hair was more representative of the remaining states in our fine Union.
Hair, hair, everywhere. Tangerine and turquoise along with platform wedges ruled the stage, just as it did in the Couture for the Cure.

I’m thinking the cardigan sweater won’t be the latest fashion trend in hot-hot-hot Houston, but it worked on this guy for the night.
A sequined romper is always a good choice for fun in the sun. Especially with red heels. 
A good look for clubbin’ in the big city.

The white dinner jacket is an eternal classic. One version had a chocolate brown stripe around the lapels — so fine!
More tangerine and more big hair. 
Her expression says it all: I’m too bored to even look bored.

The sharp-dressed man was slightly less bored.

My favorite dress of the show. I’m a sucker for hot pink.

I know the pics are kinda blurry. The bored models moved fast, and there was a lot of Captain Morgan’s dark rum involved. That’s the world of high fashion for ya.
Posted: March 6, 2012 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: breast reconstruction, Fit for the Cure, Nancy's Point, Planned Parenthood, Serena Williams, Susan G Komen for the Cure, The SCAR Project, Wacoal |
It’s been a while since I’ve gone all Serena Williams on a company or organization. Now that the Komen-Planned Parenthood debacle has died down, I’m in need of a new reason to rant.
Lo and behold, as I browsed the Sunday paper, a new rant fell right into my lap.
An ad for Dillard’s titled FI{gh}T FOR THE CURE has me seeing red, not pink.
“Help Wacoal KNOCKOUT breast cancer at a Fit for the Cure event,” reads the ad. It’s a simple idea: the bra maker will donate $2 for every woman who comes to the store to be fitted for a new bra during the event. And for every bra purchased, an additional $2 will be donated.
I’m all for donating to good causes, and I’m all for shopping. But I have 2 problems with this Wacoal campaign. First, the money is being donated to Komen “for breast cancer research and community outreach programs.” Come on, Wacoal — donate for something that will actually make a difference. We’ve all seen the pathetic Komen numbers on just how much (or how little) of these donations go toward research. Research that could potentially find a cure. As in Susan G. Komen FOR THE CURE. Or research that could potentially KNOCKOUT breast cancer, as in the Wacoal FI{gh}T FOR THE CURE slogan so tantalizingly states. Wacoal has donated $2.5 million to Komen from its FI[gh}T for the Cure events. Assuming that Komen continues on its current path, it will use 19 percent of that $2.5 mil for research. I’m no expert on medical research, but based on my own experience with my medical bills, I’m guessing $475,000 won’t go very far toward finding a cure.
Wacoal has a line of underthings called B.Tempted. Looks to me like it is aimed at young, beautiful women who like a little pizzazz under their shirts.

btempted.wacoal-america.com
Nothing wrong with that, but when Wacoal uses its B.Tempted line to promote supposed good-works for my disease, then there’s something wrong. My message to the B.Tempted models and consumers is this: enjoy those perfectly round, nicely supported breasts now, because if you’re unlucky enough to be among the one in eight women diagnosed with breast cancer, you’ll never see the likes of those again. No, instead you’ll be facing something that looks like this:

The SCAR Project
Oh but don’t worry, that flat chest etched with red, raised, painful scars can be temporary. You won’t have to deal with the indignity of a being flat as a board in our breast-obsessed culture for long. Fleeting will be your struggle to find a bra that fits (whatcha doing about this problem, Wacoal?). Before long you’ll no longer spend anguished moments in your closet and countless dollars in your quest to find something to wear that doesn’t advertise your deficiency. If you opt to undergo even more surgeries to have reconstruction, that is. Then you might be facing something that looks like this:

The SCAR Project
There we go. All better now.
My second problem lies in the images Wacoal — and by default, Dillard’s — uses to promote the FI{gh}T FOR THE CURE. The ad in my Sunday paper was black and white, so not as eye-catching as the others, and it was a little less in-your-face overly sexualized.
A quick googleimages search, however, turned up some disturbing stuff:








One in eight women in the United States will be diagnosed with breast cancer. Some 40,000 women in the Unites States will die from this disease this year alone. Some men will, too. How many of the one in eight can identify with the sirens in the Wacoal ads? How many of the 40,000 would be happy about and grateful for this type of campaign?
I am one of the one in eight, and I can do neither. I don’t identify with these models, and I think this type of advertising is shameful. It appeals to the lowest common denominator, and Wacoal should be ashamed.
Do we really need Victoria’s Secret-esque photos to advertise a breast cancer fundraiser? Is it really necessary to have such unrealistic, uber-glamorized marketing to get the message across? Would the event not sell without the model looking like she’s more suited to a striptease than to a growing health crisis? Why does it have to be about the breasts instead of the cancer?
Questions abound.
My blog friend Nancy at Nancy’s Point has asked some of these same questions:
“What other disease has the afflicted body part(s) displayed on articles of clothing with silly, even degrading commentary?
When did it become more about saving breasts than about cancer and saving lives?
Have we lost sight of what the original intent of all this awareness was?
Has breast cancer awareness merely morphed into a big business?
Is breast cancer being used? Are women being used? I think they are.
How did we let this happen? How did WOMEN let this happen?”
I’ll tell you how women let this happen: by going along with things like Fi[gh]t for the Cure. By seeing glossy, photoshopped images of young, thin, sexy women in frilly & lacy bras and somehow conflating that with philanthropy. By allowing companies like Wacoal to dictate the face of breast cancer.
Could Wacoal not get the message across by using a less-racy, less-sexualized image? How about something like this?
She’s young, strong, fit, and wearing pink. Looks to me like she could KNOCKOUT breast cancer. There’s a hint of cleavage, a peek into the area of our discontent, without being so in-your-face. Why isn’t that enough? Would the public not be swayed by the campaign without the sizzle?
Posted: February 29, 2012 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: birds eye view, canoodling, cats in the flower bed, crimes in suburbia, flower beds, poor rabbit, yard art |
Something bad happened at my place sometime between the hours of 3 pm Tuesday and 7 am today.
My sweet little garden rabbit got his head bashed in. 
I sure hope it wasn’t a hate crime.
Who could hate this guy?
Someone apparently did, because they roughed him up good.
Poor rabbit. 
His ears were sheared right off his head. And there’s no recovering from that kind of head wound.
No one is talking. I guess they’re afraid of recrimination.
This guy stands sentry at the front door, and has been quite attentive for years to the goings-on in our little patch of the neighborhood.
He is getting old, though, and perhaps he dozed off. Or maybe he didn’t cry out for fear of dropping his basket of flowers. I’m sure his hearing isn’t what it used to be, so perhaps he snoozed right through the incident and didn’t even awaken when the poor rabbit got whacked.
The frog couple who live in front of the sentry dog were too busy canoodling to notice any wrong-doing. 
The pink bird of happiness had a birds-eye view of the incident, yet claims she didn’t see a thing. Not sure how she could have missed her fallen comrade, but birds are fickle creatures, and she is a bit of a birdbrain. Good thing she’s so pretty, because she’s definitely not long on brains.

I sure wish someone had let me know that the rabbit was in trouble. He’s had a few run-ins with the neighbor’s cat who likes to creep through the flower beds, but nothing this serious; usually the cat just knocks him off his feet, and Garden Rabbit typically manages to collect himself. I’m always temped to let Harry loose when I see that mangy old cat sneaking around my flowers, but I try to be the bigger person.
Garden Rabbit’s friend, Sir Lops A Lot, was shocked and saddened to hear the bad news. 
As you can see, Loppy has suffered a similar injury, albeit not fatal.
Thankfully, through the marvels of Super Glue, Loppy’s ears were saved and reattached, and he made a full recovery. There’s no such happy ending for Garden Rabbit, unfortunately.
I had high hopes that perhaps Angel Dog might have seen or heard something, but clues are scarce.
A.D. stands in remembrance of our dogs who’ve gone to the great dog park in the sky and has always been very quiet. I suppose it comes with the territory in that business. Solemn and silent. And a little rusty.
The third rabbit in our warren had nothing to say about the crime, either. Always a little shy and usually half-covered in flowers, I shouldn’t have expected much from her. 
Maybe she was jealous of Garden Rabbit’s height and gleaming white hide. She is pretty dingy and diminutive. Sometimes it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for the most.
Crackle Frog is way too out of it to be relied upon for any useful information. He’s spent his entire life sniffing pool chemicals, so no one believes a word he says anyway. 
Not even Ellie the Water Girl had any information, and she’s usually the source of the best gossip. You know what they say about elephants. 
The last remaining hope for some insight into this brutal crime rested with the piggies. With the most smarts in the animal kingdom, I knew I could count on these two little pigs to solve the mystery of the Garden Rabbit attack. 
The Winged Thing promised to confer with Black Betty.
Surely with the brainy girls on the case, we’d catch a break and find the killer, restoring peace & order among the yard art.
The brainy girls studied the clues and meticulously retraced the steps of the assaulter in hopes of cracking the case. Working mostly unassisted and with free range of the front and back yard, the brainy girls identified a suspect.
Here’s his mug shot:
I never quite trusted that shifty-eyed, booze-swilling flamingo. He always seemed like a bad seed.
Posted: February 28, 2012 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: grey day, hidden beauty, Houston humidity, Jack Johnson, Little Miss Sunshine, Roger Hargreaves |
It’s another muggy, overcast day in H-town today. I was starting to grumble to myself as I headed to the store for more Mucinex because sickness won’t leave our house. This time it’s Payton who has been felled by the sore throat/congestion/fatigue bug that has some admirable staying power. I was grumbling at the grey day in which, as Jack Johnson would say, the horizon has been defeated. There’s absolutely no delineation between horizon & sky, just endless layers of grey. I was grumbling because I’m longing for a shot of sunshine that we winter Texans take for granted in the “winter months.” I was grumbling because it’s another day in which I can’t open the roof on my beloved little car.
Just as I was perilously close to becoming awash in grumbles, I remembered the 2 promises I recently made to myself, and suddenly I sat up a little straighter (albeit in my closed-roof car) and resolved to be less grumbly. The first promise–to be more warm, loving, and huggy–was short-lived. Those of you who know me well: go ahead and laugh. It’s ok. It was a ridiculous idea and I’m not a bit surprised that it never got off the ground. I’m much too snarky to re-invent myself as Little Miss Sunshine. Snarky and with a bit of a sharp edge is how I’m wired. I’d really like to be more gooshy and emotive but I’m also realistic. So instead of this
you get this
and this
and this
and this
and always on the lookout for this guy:
Thank you, Roger Hargreaves.
It was a good experiment, to be sweeter and hug more, but I tend to identify less with Little Miss Sunshine and more with this:
Moving on.
My second promise to myself was to find the good. I want to look for and to find a little bit of beauty everywhere, no matter how grey the day. It’s a bit of a mind shift, I suppose, from crotchety and snarky, but I think I can do it. I’m pretty sure I have a better chance of finding the good than becoming a hugger.
Yesterday I noticed the blooming plum trees at Costco. Beautiful, spindley trees inside a big-box store, bursting with delicate purple flowers made me smile. I actually stopped, pulled my giant cart to the side, and looked closely at the burst of spring in front of me. Inside the store. When I got home, I noticed a few more bursts of spring, right in my own backyard.
The next round of coral roses is a-coming!

The dewy drops on the rose’s leaves caught my eye. Each little drop was shimmery and lovely.
The pink gerber daisies never fail to make me smile. They’re cheerful and jaunty at the same time.
Same for these guys. Can never remember what they’re called but I think of them as Blackeyed Susans. Whatever their name, the bright yellow blooms can stand in for the sun, just for today.
Then there’s the lantana. The teeny little blooms pack a powerful punch of color. The pink, yellow, and orange combo is my favorite, and I have it in not one but two pots in my backyard.
Those powerhouses of color will suffice for the lack of a pinkish-orangeish sunrise today.
And last but not least, the cute little ornamental kale that we bought for Piper, thinking she’d like to munch on its curly little leaves and explore its purple center. It’s not a showy bloomer like some of the other cast of characters that comprise my landscaping, but it has its own quiet charm. 
So there you have it: I found the good.
Oh, I’ll still be snarky today. You can count on that. And I will likely be a little stiff-limbed when it comes to hugging. But I’ll still be looking for the good and wishing everyone a good day.

Posted: February 23, 2012 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: drugs, Uncategorized | Tags: avoiding germs, chest cold, hand sanitizer, pride goeth before the fall, proverbs 16:18 |
“Pride goeth before destruction, and haughtiness before a fall.”
Proverbs 16:18. Heard it a million times, because I’m a prideful person. Ask any of my tennis buddies about me being at the net when a heavy hitter comes in fast to deal with a high, slow, floating ball. Common sense dictates that the player at the net back up, lest she get pegged at close range. I, however, prefer to stand my ground knowing full well that I’m a sitting duck. Seems too much like an admission of defeat to back up, and I’d rather get pegged than retreat. It’s stupid, I know. It’s dangerous, for sure. And yet, once dug in, I stay. Too proud to retreat. Somehow in my prideful, haughty brain, it makes more sense to get hit–hard and at close-range–than to back off.
Pride equals pain sometimes, but that’s the way I’m wired.
I was mighty prideful, and perhaps a bit haughty, about the fact that everyone in my house has been sick–two members of my family got the creeping crud twice–yet I remained healthy. Escaping unscathed from the bevy of germs that invaded my house for several weeks wasn’t easy, but I did it. And I was a bit smug about it, so I guess I should have been ready for the fall.
I hate being sick.

dailycomic.com
I hate being incapacitated.
I hate being dependent on others.
I hate resting when I could be doing. Something. Anything.

playle.com
I really hate having my daily routine up-ended.
The tennis season has just started up again, and I’ve been making some serious progress in the gym lately. No to mention the colossal clean-up that’s been going on at home; closets organized, pantry emptied out & re-stocked, piles of debris chucked onto the recycling pile. This is no time for me to be sidelined.
Sore throat, fever, congestion, cough, and fatigue be gone! I’m done with you.
Tomorrow will be a better day.

talkless-saymore.com
Posted: February 12, 2012 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Alex's Lemonade Stand, Barbie's measurements, Bratz dolls, pediatric cancer, The Rose Houston, True Hope dolls |
Bratz girls after:
I thought the pinkwashing of products for breast cancer awareness was bad. Wait, I still do. But this takes the “charitable” marketing scheme to another level. At least the bald Bratz don’t look like hookers. Although the super-short plaid skirts, the over-the-knee socks, and the platform heels come close.
I don’t even know where to start. The blatant misspelling? The idea that being a brat is a good thing? The over-the-top tartiness of the original line of dolls? I’m not a fan of the original Bratz, so it’s no surprise that I’m not embracing the new line, either.
For those who are a fan of Bratz, whether the slutty version or the bald version, you may not get where I’m coming from. I will also allow for the possibility that a pediatric cancer patient may find comfort from a bald doll, albeit one that portrays a completely unattainable version of feminine beauty and one that might suggest to said child that heavy eye make-up is do-able during chemo. Bratz fans may find nothing wrong in the messages conveyed by the original Bratz gang to little girls, and perhaps will similarly find nothing wrong with bald Bratz dolls being sold under the guise of children’s cancer charities. But I have a problem with both.
Bratz dolls, IMHO, encourage impressionable little girls to focus on their image over all else. They introduce little girls to the idea of dressing like women, which is rife with problems and causes little girls grow up even faster. I’m not the only one with this opinion.
“When young girls have an open-ended toy—like a generic baby doll—it encourages creativity,” says Diane Levin, a professor in the early childhood education department at Wheelock College in Boston. “But the scenarios of Bratz dolls tells them how to play—to dress up, do your hair, go to fashion shows. The dolls encourage girls to think about themselves as sexualized objects whose power is equated with dressing provocatively.” While we women have come a long way, baby, in terms of equality, these dolls have the potential to reverse our course and send us back into the “mommies don’t go to college” mentality. If little girls get the message that they must be sexy to be valuable, we’re in real trouble.
The American Psychological Association did some research on this very issue and released its findings in the Report of the APA Task Force on the Sexualization of Girls. Girls are bombarded with images and messages that are not age-appropriate, which the APA Task Force says can have a negative impact on self-confidence, body image, self-esteem, sexual development, and mental health.
All that from a doll? You betcha.
Yet MGA’s CEO, Isaac Larian thinks otherwise. Shocking. He says that girls want Bratz because they are “beautiful,” and he denies the idea that there is anything sexual about the dolls. “I’m looking at a whole wall of them in my office, and I don’t see them wearing sexy clothes,” he says.



And from the Baby Bratz line:
Huh. Perhaps Larian needs to get his eyes checked. Or do a quick google images search, which is what I just did. Or perhaps his version of “sexy clothes” is different from mine. Since when are fishnet hose and over-the-knee boots part of the dress code for girls ages 4 to 8, which is the demographic targeted by Bratz? Since when are red lipstick, beauty marks, and adorned, itty-bitty panties cool for babies?
And what of the Bratz Web site, which promotes major superficiality and vapidness? While waiting for the transition from one screen to another, the message flashes “Please wait … it takes time to look this good.” Each doll’s “profile” used to include her “favorite body part” but that nifty little feature appears to have been axed.
More insanity from Larian, who says that “MGA’s mission is to provide joy and happiness to kids around the world. We believe children are our legacy and want them to be healthy, have confidence in their imagination and build their dreams into reality.” Like the reality of the body images of these dolls? And we thought Barbie’s proportions–estimated to be 39-21-33 and without enough body fat to menstruate, were totally whacked. At least Barbie preaches the message that girls can do anything they want to do, pursue a variety of careers, have financial and emotional independence from men, and become who they want to be rather than who society, or Isaac Larian, tells them they should be.
Larian says “We [MGA] have a responsibility to children and we take that responsibility very seriously. The “True Hope” dolls are designed to support and comfort young girls and boys who so bravely endure cancer treatments. MGA also wants to be an active supporter in the fight to develop lifesaving treatments for children.”
Maybe I’m splitting hairs, but it seems to me that if MGA really wanted to be an “active supporter” in pediatric cancer treatments and research, they’d donate more than the $1 from the sale of each doll, as currently planned. With a suggested retail price of $14.99 each, that $1 donation amounts to a pittance and reminds me of the pathetically paltry amount (an estimated 19 percent) of Susan G. Komen for the Cure’s proceeds that go toward breast cancer research. If you really want to make a difference, skip the dolls and send the $14.99 directly to a cancer charity. For pediatric cancer, I recommend St Jude or Alex’s Lemonade Stand. For breast cancer, you know I love The Rose, located right here in Houston. If you’re not sure which cause to donate to, check out Charity Navigator.
Maybe I’ve got it all wrong and the True Hope dolls will become a major tool in the battle against cancer. Maybe they will be the linchpin on which cancer research hangs. Maybe I’m cynical from the deluge of pink products purported to help eradicate the disease that kills more than 40,000 women in this country alone every year. It’s estimated that more than 12,000 kids younger than 15 are diagnosed with a childhood cancer in the United States each year. I’d love to know how many of those sweet babies would want a True Hope doll.
Posted: January 27, 2012 | Author: pinkunderbelly | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: dry out an iPhone, I miss you letter, I'm sorry letter, love letter, wet iPhone |
Dear iPhone,
I’m sorry I treated you badly. I can change. I promise.
I love you.
I need you.
I miss you.
My heart is broken.
We’re so good together.
My life is incomplete without you.
I’m committed to you. No other device will do.
I’ll be better. For you. Because I love you. Because you deserve better.
I promise not to take you for granted. Ever again.
I never intended to leave you outside, all alone. I was distracted. There’s no excuse, I know.
I didn’t know it was going rain so hard. The sky opened up, and before I realized where you were, you were soaked. Drowned. Sogged out. I tried CPR. I bought the best rice I could find and made you a dry, cozy bed. Too little too late, perhaps, but my heart is in the right place. Please come back.
I’m sorry.
Please come back to me.
Give me another chance.
love always, N.