I'm really not. But I am concerned for my little neighbor girls, Blondie 1 and Blondie 2. If you're rather new to my blog and don't know about this neighbor family of mine, read up a little on The Blondies and their parents, "Barbie and Ken" right here.
This has been a strange summer for the Barbie family. As I mentioned in that previous post, their children spend copious amounts of time at our house; which sometimes I have issues with, and sometimes I don't. It entirely depends on what kind of mood I'm in and how good or bad my kids have been that day. But I was really looking forward to a great summer of lots of outdoor play with these girls for my kids. After all, during the school year they are over until the sun goes down; why wouldn't it be any different? I guess Barbie had different plans for the summer for her girls.
A few months ago, I'd say right at the beginning of the summer, Barbie was outside with her girls and I was outside with mine. She and I were making idle chit-chat when Barbie decided to spill her guts to me. (I was once telling hubby that every time I have a conversation with Barbie, I end up feeling absolutely stunned by something that she had to tell me....never fails.) However, even for Barbie and her "diarrhea of the mouth" problem, this may have been one thing that if I were her, I would have kept to myself. There we are, standing at the end of my driveway, and she spills it:
Barbie: "I'm kind of having an affair."
Kristen: (not exactly knowing how to respond to this sudden news...) "Oh, um...really?"
Barbie: "Yeah. I'm not sleeping with him or anything. I've known him for a long time and he just gives me the emotional support that Ken doesn't give me. I've only held his hand and talked to him on the phone. But Ken found out about it and now I feel like I'm in prison. He says he wants to work things out and he doesn't want to lose me, but that I have to quit seeing this guy."
Kristen: "Oh, wow." (I'm not often speechless, but what does she expect me to say?!?!)
She then went on to outline all of the reasons that this affair is justifiable in her mind and why she doesn't believe she can quit seeing him.
The summer progressed, and while I didn't ask Barbie anymore about it, I began to notice the change in the household. When Ken was home, Barbie wasn't, and vice versa. Sometimes the Blondies were with Barbie, sometimes with Ken, but they were never together.
Sometimes (a lot of the time) Ken would be at home most of the evening by himself accompanied by extremely loud music coming from his truck. Barbie would cruise into the driveway at some point in the night because her car would be there the next day, and Ken's truck would not.
There would be days at a time where my kids wouldn't see the Blondies. In my mind, of course, having heard news of the affair straight from the horse's mouth, I was pretty sure this had something to do with the disappearance of the female 3/4 of the household.
As the weeks of the summer have passed on, this trend has continued. When the girls do come over and play with mine, most times they are wearing the same clothes they've worn for the past two or three days. Their hair is un-combed and they look disheveled and almost sad. Particularly Blondie 1. When they are home, they are home at my house....not theirs. Knowing what they could potentially be going through right now, I do not make issue of this any longer. My home, my family and my kids may be the only sense of normalcy they have right now. I don't know. What I do know is that the Blondies have been spending a lot of time at "mommy's friend Jack's house" lately, and that Jack is a 54 year old twice married man with seven children (and is currently married).
I feel so unbelievably sad for these girls, sad for Ken (although I don't know what the full story is...only what Blondie told me herself and my observances from living next door to them), and angry at Blondie for doing this to her kids. Granted, I don't know everything that is happening with them, and I don't need to, but I don't think it's right to be taking your children to your "sugar daddy's" house and confusing them that way. I've considered offering them to adopt their kids. I might as well. They are such sweet girls and I feel sad for them.
Showing posts with label Barbie and Ken. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Barbie and Ken. Show all posts
Aug 22, 2006
May 23, 2006
It's All Good
Thanks so much to everyone on your comments and input on my last post. I really appreciated everyone's opinions.
Saturday, I decided to have a chat with Barbie. I hadn't really had the chance before then since the big "foot in my mouth" episode. But by Saturday, I practically had an ulcer over the situation and was losing sleep. The Barbie and Ken family and our family have always gotten along really well since we moved to the neighborhood and I hated the thought of messing up the relationship between ourselves and our kids. So, I decided to take a mixture of the advice you wonderful people had given me. Some thought I should go talk to her about the situation, some thought I should leave well enough alone. I decided to do something in-between.
Early Saturday morning (early on a Saturday morning meaning about 9:30 a.m.), hubby was outside working on the yard. The front door hung ajar and Care Bear and Feisty had managed to escape out the door to go investigate what Daddy was doing. I ran out the door after them. No one was dressed yet. Hair was all over the place; food was all over the faces; and guess who happened to be outside at that particular moment? Yep; Barbie. Perfectly coiffed in her daisy dukes and her itty-bitty tank top. And here I am looking like death warmed over. Barbie was in what looked like a rather intense discussion with her mom who was over at the moment. I decided to myself, "This is possibly the only opportunity I may have for quite awhile to talk to Barbie and get this whole thing out in the open and ease my mind." Then I looked down at myself. There was no way I was going to go have a chat with Barbie looking like Medusa. I surveyed the situation. Looked like the conversation with Barbie Mom may last awhile. Perhaps I have time to go slip on my own daisy dukes and tank top (although a little more modest), brush through the snake hair and go say hi. So, I did just that. Luckily, when I got back outside, Barbie Mom had just left and Barbie was getting ready to head inside. I bounded through the yard to give Barbie the good ole, "Hey, wasssupp?" I decided to act like nothing weird was going on (because perhaps there wasn't; this may have all been in my head. Not like I haven't created dramatic situations for myself before.) Within 30 seconds of talking to her, I realized that this was another case of "Kristen Paranoia". I didn't ask Barbie if she had heard the statement I made, I just put on the charm, inititated a lighthearted conversation, and she talked back. If she did hear anything, she didn't let on.
The girls hadn't been over for several days, but within the conversation I had with Barbie, I was enlightened by a couple of things she said and have realized that it may be a good thing that her kids have been able to spend so much time at our house lately.
Needless to say, Care Bear and Feisty have been crawling out of their skin the past few days with their buddies not around to play with and Mama has been overdosing on pre-school play. My house is suffering. I was over-joyed yesterday evening when I saw two little blonde-headed girls making their way through my yard towards the door. And so were Care Bear and Feisty. They stayed until 8:00 p.m. Past dinner (yes, I fed them), and until bed time. And you know what? I couldn't have been happier.
Saturday, I decided to have a chat with Barbie. I hadn't really had the chance before then since the big "foot in my mouth" episode. But by Saturday, I practically had an ulcer over the situation and was losing sleep. The Barbie and Ken family and our family have always gotten along really well since we moved to the neighborhood and I hated the thought of messing up the relationship between ourselves and our kids. So, I decided to take a mixture of the advice you wonderful people had given me. Some thought I should go talk to her about the situation, some thought I should leave well enough alone. I decided to do something in-between.
Early Saturday morning (early on a Saturday morning meaning about 9:30 a.m.), hubby was outside working on the yard. The front door hung ajar and Care Bear and Feisty had managed to escape out the door to go investigate what Daddy was doing. I ran out the door after them. No one was dressed yet. Hair was all over the place; food was all over the faces; and guess who happened to be outside at that particular moment? Yep; Barbie. Perfectly coiffed in her daisy dukes and her itty-bitty tank top. And here I am looking like death warmed over. Barbie was in what looked like a rather intense discussion with her mom who was over at the moment. I decided to myself, "This is possibly the only opportunity I may have for quite awhile to talk to Barbie and get this whole thing out in the open and ease my mind." Then I looked down at myself. There was no way I was going to go have a chat with Barbie looking like Medusa. I surveyed the situation. Looked like the conversation with Barbie Mom may last awhile. Perhaps I have time to go slip on my own daisy dukes and tank top (although a little more modest), brush through the snake hair and go say hi. So, I did just that. Luckily, when I got back outside, Barbie Mom had just left and Barbie was getting ready to head inside. I bounded through the yard to give Barbie the good ole, "Hey, wasssupp?" I decided to act like nothing weird was going on (because perhaps there wasn't; this may have all been in my head. Not like I haven't created dramatic situations for myself before.) Within 30 seconds of talking to her, I realized that this was another case of "Kristen Paranoia". I didn't ask Barbie if she had heard the statement I made, I just put on the charm, inititated a lighthearted conversation, and she talked back. If she did hear anything, she didn't let on.
The girls hadn't been over for several days, but within the conversation I had with Barbie, I was enlightened by a couple of things she said and have realized that it may be a good thing that her kids have been able to spend so much time at our house lately.
Needless to say, Care Bear and Feisty have been crawling out of their skin the past few days with their buddies not around to play with and Mama has been overdosing on pre-school play. My house is suffering. I was over-joyed yesterday evening when I saw two little blonde-headed girls making their way through my yard towards the door. And so were Care Bear and Feisty. They stayed until 8:00 p.m. Past dinner (yes, I fed them), and until bed time. And you know what? I couldn't have been happier.
May 19, 2006
Some Ketchup with my Foot, please!!
We have some neighbors. No, really, we do. Quite a few actually. But we have some next door neighbors. They have two little girls, ages 5 and 3. My girls, ages 2 and almost 4 love to play with them. If it were up to all of these girls, they would play with eachother every waking (and non waking for that matter) hour. This is great, in my opinion. Play, play, play to your hearts content and wear yourselves out real good by bed time. But here is the thing: Most of the time I feel like I have 5 kids instead of just 3.
I'll explain my neighbors a little bit for you. I call them Barbie and Ken (not to their knowledge of course). Barbie is just that: a Barbie. 25 years old, long blonde hair, big (fake) boobs, and a year round tan. Her hair and tan are fake, too though, but nonetheless, the result is the same. Barbie likes to talk on the phone. All.the.time. I never see this woman without a phone attached to her ear. NEVER. I think she should just have it surgically implanted onto her ear. It'd probably make life easier for her. Barbie spends most of her non phone hours either tanning or working out at the gym. She puts her girls in the "daycare" at both places while she self-indulges.
Ken looks like, well....Ken. Handsome, built, winning smile, the whole nine yards. Ken owns his own business. I still to this day do not exactly know what he does, but whatever it is seems to earn them a pretty good chunk of change because Barbie doesn't work; she's too busy on the phone to work. Ken spends copious amounts of time on his yard. Barbie spends equal amounts of time on the inside of the house. The house (inside and out) looks like it belongs in Better Homes & Gardens.
Their little girls are absolutely adorable. Sun-kissed blonde hair, bright blue eyes and sweet little demeanors. They are very well behaved. I can always count on seeing one or both of these sweet little faces at my door when I hear the doorbell ring first thing in the morning before Care Bear or Feisty (I just found out I've been spelling Feisty wrong all this time) have even had a chance to bathe or get dressed. Most of the time when they show up, they are still in their pajamas. At some point during the morning, Barbie must realize they have gone and herds them back in to quickly to clean them up and send them on their way again...back over to my house. (side note: one day last week, I was on the phone with Barbie....shocker; on the phone...and she told me that when she was in the shower that morning her girls had escaped when the dog got out and walked themselves to the park. She couldn't find them....she even called the cops. She's also had Animal Protection called on her several times and gotten several tickets for her cat and her dogs getting out. She had to go to court last week....this is all to say, she doesn't keep very good track of anything or anyone she is responsible for.)
The girls all have a great time together, all day every day playing everything imaginable. 90% of their time is spent in either my house, or my yard. I don't mind. Those girls obviously feel more comfortable playing at my house or in my yard where they don't have to be concerned with getting a footprint on the floor, or leaving a plate on a table. I am preparing, however, to start asking for money for my babysitting services, or perhaps claiming them on next years taxes. I do, after all, feed them lunch and snacks half the time. They, in fact, feel so comfortable with us and our family that the younger of the two girls actually refer to my parents as Grandma and Grandpa. What does that tell ya??
Every now and then, once dinner time and bed time rolls around, I do begin to get a little frustrated wondering if their parents are ever going to retrieve their offspring, or if they even care. Should I draw a bath for these girls? Should I set them a place at our dinner table? Should I find the sleeping bags?? It can get a little hard when I'm trying to fix dinner and I have 10 little feet underneath me asking for food, or whatever other question happens to cross the mind of a child that age. Eventually, the door bell does ring. They do remember they have kids! Miracle of all miracles! Then the cycle begins the next morning. It's all good. Until "neighbor of the year" (that would be me) sticks her size 7.5 foot in her mouth in an unsuspecting moment:
It was two nights ago. It was 7:00. Dinner had come and gone. The girls were still at our house. Feisty was unbelievably cranky and tired. I wanted her to go to bed and was not having much success what with the chaos inhabiting my home. She wasn't havin' it. In a moment of frustration I walk down the stairs into the kitchen and express my frustration to hubby. "Are those kids ever going home?!" Hubby gets a look on his face and gestures towards the door (which can't be seen from the kitchen but is in close proximity). I hadn't heard the doorbell ring. Apparently, either Barbie or Ken had shown up and were picking up the girls and may or may not have heard my oh-so sweet comment. My heart immediately plunged in to the bowels of my stomach and I wanted to sink into the floor right at that moment.
I still don't know if Barbie and/or Ken heard my comment. But yesterday when their girls showed up at our house in their jammies, within minutes I heard Barbie yelling for them to come back home and they didn't come back the rest of the day. Who knows what today holds. I could just be paranoid. Maybe they didn't hear me, but I wouldn't doubt they did. I will feel so rotten if I ruined my kids' relationship with their friends because of one comment made out of frustration.
My foot isn't tasting too good right now!
(Fridays award will be awarded early next week. Haven't been too creative with the cooking this week. Been using old standbys because after the big bash on Saturday, I didn't have the energy or desire to be creative. So look for the award early next week. I know you are all sooo bummed.)
I'll explain my neighbors a little bit for you. I call them Barbie and Ken (not to their knowledge of course). Barbie is just that: a Barbie. 25 years old, long blonde hair, big (fake) boobs, and a year round tan. Her hair and tan are fake, too though, but nonetheless, the result is the same. Barbie likes to talk on the phone. All.the.time. I never see this woman without a phone attached to her ear. NEVER. I think she should just have it surgically implanted onto her ear. It'd probably make life easier for her. Barbie spends most of her non phone hours either tanning or working out at the gym. She puts her girls in the "daycare" at both places while she self-indulges.
Ken looks like, well....Ken. Handsome, built, winning smile, the whole nine yards. Ken owns his own business. I still to this day do not exactly know what he does, but whatever it is seems to earn them a pretty good chunk of change because Barbie doesn't work; she's too busy on the phone to work. Ken spends copious amounts of time on his yard. Barbie spends equal amounts of time on the inside of the house. The house (inside and out) looks like it belongs in Better Homes & Gardens.
Their little girls are absolutely adorable. Sun-kissed blonde hair, bright blue eyes and sweet little demeanors. They are very well behaved. I can always count on seeing one or both of these sweet little faces at my door when I hear the doorbell ring first thing in the morning before Care Bear or Feisty (I just found out I've been spelling Feisty wrong all this time) have even had a chance to bathe or get dressed. Most of the time when they show up, they are still in their pajamas. At some point during the morning, Barbie must realize they have gone and herds them back in to quickly to clean them up and send them on their way again...back over to my house. (side note: one day last week, I was on the phone with Barbie....shocker; on the phone...and she told me that when she was in the shower that morning her girls had escaped when the dog got out and walked themselves to the park. She couldn't find them....she even called the cops. She's also had Animal Protection called on her several times and gotten several tickets for her cat and her dogs getting out. She had to go to court last week....this is all to say, she doesn't keep very good track of anything or anyone she is responsible for.)
The girls all have a great time together, all day every day playing everything imaginable. 90% of their time is spent in either my house, or my yard. I don't mind. Those girls obviously feel more comfortable playing at my house or in my yard where they don't have to be concerned with getting a footprint on the floor, or leaving a plate on a table. I am preparing, however, to start asking for money for my babysitting services, or perhaps claiming them on next years taxes. I do, after all, feed them lunch and snacks half the time. They, in fact, feel so comfortable with us and our family that the younger of the two girls actually refer to my parents as Grandma and Grandpa. What does that tell ya??
Every now and then, once dinner time and bed time rolls around, I do begin to get a little frustrated wondering if their parents are ever going to retrieve their offspring, or if they even care. Should I draw a bath for these girls? Should I set them a place at our dinner table? Should I find the sleeping bags?? It can get a little hard when I'm trying to fix dinner and I have 10 little feet underneath me asking for food, or whatever other question happens to cross the mind of a child that age. Eventually, the door bell does ring. They do remember they have kids! Miracle of all miracles! Then the cycle begins the next morning. It's all good. Until "neighbor of the year" (that would be me) sticks her size 7.5 foot in her mouth in an unsuspecting moment:
It was two nights ago. It was 7:00. Dinner had come and gone. The girls were still at our house. Feisty was unbelievably cranky and tired. I wanted her to go to bed and was not having much success what with the chaos inhabiting my home. She wasn't havin' it. In a moment of frustration I walk down the stairs into the kitchen and express my frustration to hubby. "Are those kids ever going home?!" Hubby gets a look on his face and gestures towards the door (which can't be seen from the kitchen but is in close proximity). I hadn't heard the doorbell ring. Apparently, either Barbie or Ken had shown up and were picking up the girls and may or may not have heard my oh-so sweet comment. My heart immediately plunged in to the bowels of my stomach and I wanted to sink into the floor right at that moment.
I still don't know if Barbie and/or Ken heard my comment. But yesterday when their girls showed up at our house in their jammies, within minutes I heard Barbie yelling for them to come back home and they didn't come back the rest of the day. Who knows what today holds. I could just be paranoid. Maybe they didn't hear me, but I wouldn't doubt they did. I will feel so rotten if I ruined my kids' relationship with their friends because of one comment made out of frustration.
My foot isn't tasting too good right now!
(Fridays award will be awarded early next week. Haven't been too creative with the cooking this week. Been using old standbys because after the big bash on Saturday, I didn't have the energy or desire to be creative. So look for the award early next week. I know you are all sooo bummed.)
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