Barbie for the generations

What happens when the 2011 version of Barbie and Ken meets the fashions and furnishings of their 1970s counterparts?

Hours of fun for a certain four-year-old who now thinks "disco" is the perfect date destination, (despite having no clue what the word means), an overwhelming smell of bleach permeating my house, and a flood of memories of my own childhood adventures with Barbie.

Oh wait, that's right. I never had a Barbie of my own. I had PJ. My sister got to have Barbie. I think it had something to do with avoiding getting our toys mixed up. Nevermind that we had identical Ken dolls and two Skippers each, and never had trouble confusing those toys. I'm sure if another Barbie had been thrown in the mix, it would have been nothing but trouble.

No lingering bitterness here. No, that'd be so childish. I'm fine. Really. This is about Sydney's fun with Barbie.

Wait, even she gets a Barbie? I never had one!

It all started Saturday. Sydney was playing outside with a dish pan full of water. A more doting parent would interpret that as a sign their child needs a swimming pool. I, on the other hand, chose a cheaper route. The next day, I bought her a basic Barbie and Ken doll (Hey - at least I bought her Barbie!) and suggested Sydney take them for a dip in the "swimming pool".

That was great fun for Barbie and Ken... until they were interrupted by an unruly bunch of ghost pirates, sailors and soldiers who had to go and start a war in the middle of their pool party.

Despite the fun, something was missing for Sydney. Ken came with his own beach towel, but poor Barbie had only a swimsuit. Mommy the pack rat to the rescue!

With flashbacks of playing Barbies with my sister in the front yard of our old house in Brooklyn Center, I headed for the basement. (Lisa, if you're reading this, whatever happened to the orange and white Barbie pool? Remember filling it with the garden hose, washing our dolls' clothes in the water and then draping them all over the hood of Dad's truck to dry?)

Digging through a box of childhood mementos, I found my old PJ and Skipper dolls. They've aged quite well. The last 25 years in a box have definitely been easier on them than the first few years of loving from a young me.

But that's about all I found. And that's when I called my mom, who was coming to see us the next day. Grandma Elouise to the rescue! My mom graciously dug through their boat house, pulling out and delivering to me the Barbie PJ toys of my youth. Mold-covered and birdseed-infested - something other than Barbie seems to have been camping in the van - the majority of what she found is now deposited here:

Still, I managed to salvage enough to delight the next generation of Barbie lover in my family. 

My old Ken doll - who looked like he'd been doing battle in the trenches with GI Joe, his face was so blackened - got to take a swim of his own. In a sink filled with bleach. The rest of the dolls soon followed. Skipper still has sunglasses sewn to her head. That's some impressive thread! I know I used to try and pull the glasses off when I was little, and I caught Sydney trying to do the same. But still it's held strong.

The inflatable furniture got the bleach treatment next. Meanwhile, a bunch of clothes got thrown in a garment bag and sent through the washing machine.

Tah dah! PJ, meet Barbie and Ken and Mommy's Ken and Skipper and Skipper.

I have to ask, when did Ken get real hair? Seriously, check out the doll in the red shirt. Okay, I know it's not "real" hair, but when did he get anything other than the plastic 'do he'd sported for all those years?

A lot of the clothes had to be tossed due to rotten elastic or holes caused by wildlife. Maybe if the styles hadn't been so hideous (bell bottom fashions and wild fabric prints - lots of big flower patterns), I would have tried harder to salvage more. And I have to give my sister credit. She definitely did a better job taking care of her doll's clothes than I did with mine. 

Maybe that's why she got Barbie!

Of the clothes I saved, the gold pant suit, which I believe belonged to my sister's Barbie, has become Sydney's favorite. And so, Ken and Barbie now dress in some pretty groovy styles while hanging out on lime green, orange and yellow-striped furniture. They've spent a day at daycare for show-and-tell. And they've gone to a lot of discos, whatever those might be. (I'd casually mentioned, once we'd gotten them dressed, that they looked ready to disco. Sydney must have liked the word because she's latched on to it.)

I can only hope Sydney learns some valuable lessons from my old toys. For instance:

• Don't use a curling iron on a doll with plastic hair. It melts and doesn't grow back.
• Don't cut your doll's hair. It doesn't grow back. (It's a battle, but I'm fighting the urge to give the shaggy new Ken a trim.)
• Don't let your brother get a hold of your dolls. Heads tend to break off and need a dowel rod to be reattached.
• Do take care of your dolls. You just never know how many childhood memories they might revive 35 years later.