Category Archives: Andrea

The spring of fifth grade we decided to ride our bikes to Oklahoma. I don’t remember how this decision came about, but it was as real, and we were as determined, as could be!

Andi had a map of the United States on her wall – one of those Disneyland-esque maps with cartoons of each states’ main attractions. A key of the distances was located in the corner. Using some blue yarn we measured the approximate distance – ahem, as the crow flies, from Salt Lake to Oklahoma city.

We were excellent bike riders, this we already knew. We could ride any hill in the neighborhood without the need to stand to pedal ourselves up. We could both ride no-handed, even down the same mentioned hills. Each morning we rode our bikes to school, leaving an hour early just so we could explore.

So a bike ride to Oklahoma didn’t actually seem that unreasonable. We determined we’d have to convince my mom first – and then she could convince Andi’s mom. I remember going in to her room. She was reading. I told her of our plans – our determination – to ride a third of the way across the county, if we only had permission. She looked up, thoroughly unrattled, and said it was fine with her.

And so we began practicing. We planned to sell home-made rag dolls and salt dough Christmas ornaments to raise funds for the adventure. We would pack water and snacks in our retro-fitted saddle bags. We would ride each day, stopping for meals. We’d have someone drive alongside of course. By our calculations it would take about three weeks to make the journey.

As summer approached we determined we’d better start having practice rides. And so one day we decided to go for it – to ride as far and as long as possible – just to see how it would be.

Up the hill of Cottonwood Lane – up and around to the elementary school. That part was easy. We did that every day. Then on, on, on down Holladay Boulevard. It was a hot day. We didn’t have water with us, and we were long past the familiar homes with the familiar families we could stop and ask for water from. No matter. We pushed on in the heat.

Eventually Holladay Boulevard empties out onto 6400 South, the location of the old, dilapidated (even then) Cotton Bottom – bar. We knocked on the door. I remember the surprise on the waitresses face when we asked “for a drink.”

She gave us a firm “no.” Even as we pleaded for water in the heat, she told us we couldn’t even come inside to the air conditioning. But she did tell us if we followed 6400 South down we would eventually come to a “Wendy’s” – and they surely would give us some water.

So, we continued on our way, parched and sweating, down around to Wendy’s. We parked our bikes outside, too tired to concern ourselves with bike locks. Inside the air conditioning helped, but was far from completely relieving us. I remember standing in line, worried that they would want a quarter for a cup of water. I didn’t have any money on me, and I was so thirsty!

But they gave us each a drink. We sat in that Wendy’s for a good long while as we recovered from the shock of heat and distance.

Eventually we climbed back onto our bikes and rode home – down Highland Drive, and back up into the neighborhood the back way. The entire ride may have been only five miles.

After that a bike ride to Oklahoma was never talked about again.

And now, on busy days when we’re out and about, I often run down to the very same Wendy’s for chicken nuggets and Frosty’s for my posse. They don’t know the history of the place.

I’m going to try and write down memories I have – for my little lovelies who always ask “Tell me a story of when you were a kid . . .”

I’m going to call them “Tales for Tuesdays” – and will try to write one a week . . . unless of course something else happens. In which case I won’t.

You can read all “Tales for Tuesdays” here.

And he put his blankie over my legs, then turned and grabbed my hands, putting my two fingers into my own mouth, before turning back and and resting in satisfaction against my shoulder.

He just wanted me to relax too.

Wyatt turned to me the other night and said “You know, I understood you so much better after I watched ‘Winnie the Pooh’.”

Today was one of those days – one of those wild-monkey-poo days. As I type this mass hysteria is broadcasting in hi-def stereo quality from the basement, the ear piercing result of children being sent to bed early. Early bed the consequence to the aforementioned wild-monkey-poo day.

It wasn’t all bad – you know, except the part that was. The part where Calvin cried, and cried and cried because Everett did something or other. And then Olivia was upset because so and so said such and such. And then because we had to run errands. And then because I wouldn’t let them wait in the car. And then because I told them to wait in the car, I’d only be a minute. Then it was time to clean rooms. And oh, by golly, but that caused drama. And then the injustice of the wrong tv show, and then having to wait to dye the Easter eggs, and then the Easter eggs falling and cracking, and don’t mention the tantrum Everett threw to get Olivia to give her his egg, or the tantrum Olivia threw when Everett wouldn’t give it back. And when I mentioned “Fort Friday” the angels smiled – for only one brief moment. Then there were tears because I didn’t share a treat just right, and then because dinner wasn’t quite right. And then because I said we couldn’t sleep in the fort. And then because I said we couldn’t even make the fort. And then because I said “Straight to bed!”

Sometimes I wonder at the insanity of my life. I giggle in retrospect at the sheer audacity I have to even try this gig called motherhood. I love them – but some days I feel like a zoo keeper locked in the monkey exhibit when they’re flinging their poo!

Love you, babies!

Yesterday I was cleaning the basement. Let’s be honest, it was a mess. After half a week of spring break, with no school, no cleaning, and sibling slumber parties, it was like a hurricane had blown through, leaving toys and clothes strewn in its path.

So I started my work. I didn’t feel like putting up the fight of making the children do it themselves (although I know I should have). Instead, I banished them to the backyard while I worked. Every once in a while they would come in “to get something” and I would bark in my most grumpy-I-mean-it way: Stay outside or you’re going to have to clean! or You better not be making a mess upstairs or else!  or Do not come inside, you have to play outside!

After having barked adequately at each child that they actually believed me and had stayed away awhile, I was just finishing up Olivia’s room (the last of my cleaning for the afternoon) when I picked up her bed canopy (which had fallen down last week). Underneath I found a red kitchen towel, folded neatly. I unfolded that to put away what ever she was hiding.

Inside I found an Easter cake – a precious remnant of last week’s treats. They had been gone for days, so I thought. The first thing that came to my mind was “She’s hiding treats, the little turkey!”

And then, beneath that I found a coloring book. Olivia has been making coloring books for a while now – each one stapled together with little illustrations on each page.

And then I read the cover -

“All about me – Olivia. For Mom, Happy Easter” (Or something to that effect, I’ll requote this on Sunday).

Then I read the coloring book (I probably shouldn’t have, but I was instantly charmed and couldn’t put it down.)

The book told all sorts of interesting things about Olivia, complete with darling illustrations.

And then, beneath the coloring book, a card for me, telling me I was the best mom.

And then – there I sat, on the floor of Olivia’s room, my kids, scolded to trepidation to stay outside, and me, with a home made gift Olivia had concocted on her own, days before the holiday, wrapped and securely hidden away for its grand presentation on Easter morning.

And in that moment I felt at once both two inches tall and like a superhero all at the same time.

And it reminded me (again) – (and again) – that having the house clean is not nearly as important as having lovey happy children.

So I went right upstairs, and packed the lovies up, and off we went to IFA to get the seeds I had promised the kids I would get them so they could plant their own garden this weekend.

I sure can’t wait for Easter!

*I’ll update this post in a few days with pictures of the dear little book.

Can you feel the betterness already?

Of course after a long and brown winter, I’m always excited to get out and put some color in my yard. Every year my attempts find varying degrees of failure! LOL. Oh well, it’s March, and that means I’m thinking about starting again!

This year, in addition to the flower gardens I dream about, I’m ready for the practical application of a vegetable garden. Last fall we finally cleared out the “garden” corner of our yard – the space designated for the “some day,” that has been piled with wood/junk/construction material for the past five years. Last Friday, with fine weather forcasted for the weekend, I conned Wyatt into coming home early from work so we could spend the weekend building garden boxes.

We built five -

2 4×4′s
2 4×8′s
1 4×12

Last year we heard of the concept of “square foot gardening” – where you section off your garden by square foot, and each square holds a plant. Sounds genius/easy/impressive, and since I have absolutely no experience in gardening, I am willing to try anything.

So I sectioned my garden off by square foot (in plan only so far). Do you know how many square feet I have? 140 Square Feet. That’s a lot of plants. (And my mother in law almost cried when I made my garden so small. Seriously).

Well, today I  made my plan for what to plant and where. I did research about what plants/varieties do the best in Utah, as well as what plants to put by each other so that everything should maximize it’s potential.

I’ve got a plan.

Now I need dirt – to fill up my boxes. And seed – to plant.

And then a long summer to grow my produce.

And I LOVE long summers.

21 Corn Plants
2 Zucchini
12 Pole Bean Plants
96 Carrots
2 Summer Squash
6 Pepper Plants
4 Cucumber Plants
2 Eggplants
2 Early Girl Tomato Plants
2 Big Boy Tomato Plants
1 Roma Tomato Plant
1 Cherry Tomato Plant
18 Yellow Onions
18 Red Onions
A Kajillion Green Onions
3 Broccoli
4 Pumpkins/Winter Squash
Lots of Cilantro
Lots of Basil
Lots of Parsley
And the whole thing lined with Petunias, Marigolds (which are theoretically good snail repellants) and Sunflowers.

And what about the excess produce? Well, I will can salsa if I can – and we will have summer barbeques with our yummies. And I love zucchini bread and earth bread. And then my ward always has a farmers market (where we give our produce, not sell) where we can all share our produce at the end of the summer, so I know it won’t go to waste.

I made myself a planting guide – because I was kinda bored today. At the last minute I added a “brought to you by” at the bottom. I think I will try “pinning” it and see where it goes. In any case, I now have a pretty plan.

Click here to download a printable planting guide.

This special edition of “Tales for Tuesday” is printed on Sunday, especially for Uncle Terry.

Where do you even start when you’re talking about Uncle Terry? In my family he was known as “Terry 1″ because we had a plethora of Uncles by that name, but he was always first.

Uncle Terry could never talk without smiling. I think his smile muscles are extra short, for his mouth was always drawn up in a grin, and I never could decide if he was teasing me for being so serious all the time or adoring me because, well, he seemed to adore everyone.

Especially his kids. I never knew a dad in my entire scope of friends and family who spent more time with his kids – usually on the mountain tops. I remember the mixture of envy and terror I felt as he told me of the 25 mile hikes he would drag his kids on for a Saturday. Week long camp trips deep into the back country was how he vacationed. And no kid was too small or to weak for his excursions. Even my cousin, Zach, his son, who was born without abdominal muscles, was taken along, and had to keep up. Now on Facebook I see pictures of cousin Jeremy and his kids  – little toddlers out in the wilderness, and I laugh inwardly and feel the same mixture of delight and horror as he is doing the same thing.

It was the day after Christmas in 1996 – and my parents waved goodbye to Danny (18), me (17), Larry (15) and the little people in our family as we drove over five hundred miles in the old blue suburban to see Aunt Jill and Uncle Terry, who had invited us for a visit.

And it became a little nerve wracking as we drove over the Sierra Nevada mountains in a snow storm, and the Burb kept overheating. Danny would drive for a while ’til the thermostat was too much to ignore. Then we’d pull over, open the hood, and do the only thing we could think of to cool the car down – throw the accumulating snow from the side of the road onto the steaming engine.

Finally we couldn’t go any further, so, while Danny and the kids waited, I thumbed a ride into the next town to call Uncle Terry to come get us.

And when he came he had his typical grin, which made the stressful situation turn instantly into a silly and great adventure to tell my kids – someday.

This week we had the tragic news of Uncle Terry’s diagnosis of a terminal cancer. His time is limited, but his life seemed to be lived so fully, how can there be tragedy in that? The greatest sadness will only be for those of us who still need his grin to remind us not to take everything so serious, and to keep looking for the adventure in it all.

I’m going to try and write down memories I have – for my little lovelies who always ask “Tell me a story of when you were a kid . . .”

I’m going to call them “Tales for Tuesdays” – and will try to write one a week . . . unless of course something else happens. In which case I won’t.

When I was nineteen I spent a semester living in Moscow.

And one time we went on a grand trip through northern Russia, across the border to Helsinki, Finland where this story begins, and then across the Baltic to Stockholm, Sweden, where this story ends.

Now, we start in Helsinki, where we arrived at five am after an overnight bus ride from St. Petersburg. Six of us girls stayed with an LDS family who lived outside the city. We spent the day in Helsinki, shopping, seeing the sights, etc. But when it came time to return to Ruska’s house (Ruska was the teenage girl of the host family), someone had the bright idea that we should all dye our hair matching shades of wild red. Michelle opted out, but the rest of us bought our own two-week-wash-out in the shade of our choice.

Now really, if your house was invaded by six foreign teenage girls, would you want them all in your bathroom, dying their hair? I cringe at the memory of this, but still, we did it, and had a grand time in doing so.

In the process of dying our hair red. Silly girls!

And our coifs were wild and furious crimson by morning.

Well, the day or two after that we caught the overnight ferry over to Stockholm, where we planned to stay at the LDS Temple Hotel, the accommodations made for the members of the church who travel from around Europe to do their temple work. It was the nicest hostel at the best price available to us – but if we were going to take advantage of such an economic boon, we’d better do some temple work while we were at it.

And so we each brought our recommends to do baptisms for the dead, and spent the first morning in the Stockholm temple doing the work.

We visited with the workers of the temple, each were missionaries, most from the United States, called to serve and work here at the temple in the Sweden. I am relieved that they were American, for you can excuse the thoughtlessness of your own culture a little easier at times, and I hope they forgave us! Two or three girls had been in the font when someone mentioned that the water was looking a little pink. Then the girls took a closer look at their jump suits, and noticed a reddish tinge. And then the towels were noticed, bright bright red with the rinse of our hair dye!

We all panicked at our thoughtless faux pas. But I remember the lovely temple matron chuckling and telling us not to worry, for hurray! We had given the women something to do that afternoon when the temple was empty, they would wash all the linens and empty and refill the font.

Oh, good grief, we were hair brained – literally.

And months later when I came home to the US of A, my sisters greeted me at the airport with bright red hair of their own, and even my dad had dyed his greys “just a little” to make good fun of me.

I’m going to try and write down memories I have – for my little lovelies who always ask “Tell me a story of when you were a kid . . .”

I’m going to call them “Tales for Tuesdays” – and will try to write one a week . . . unless of course something else happens. In which case I won’t.

You can read all “Tales for Tuesdays” here.

At Christmas Everett still wasn’t talking much. He had maybe a handful of words, but they were small, and used irregularly.

By the end of January he was a little chatter box with a vocabulary as wide as his grin (very wide, don’t you know).

Some of my favorites:

“Me’s” – aka – mine

“Aah-Ya” -aka – Olivia, so cute because my nickname from my brother when I was little was “Aah Ya”

“Nah-nee” -aka- Calvin, although yesterday Ejo concentrated very hard and said “Calvin” for the first time.

He has no problem saying “Andrew” or “Everett”

The other day I was out running errand without kiddos  (a rare experience for me). It wasn’t until my errands were done and I was pulling back into the neighborhood that I realized I was still listening to the kid’s Veggie Tales pirate soundtrack . . . and singing along. And when I realized the kids were gone and I could change the music to something more – mmm – age appropriate, I felt a little hesitant . . . . because I like the Pirate CD. I am the very model of a modern major general . . .

Feb. 16, 2012

My children have never believed in the whole “kiss it better” thing. I tried to convince Olivia, and I probably even tried with Calvin, that my kisses would make those bonks and bruises be okay. But it never took hold.

But this morning Everett bonked his head on the chair. In his tears he came to me and told me “Kiss it!”

And so I did. And the tears stopped.

And I felt like “YES!” I finally get to be a super hero.

Feb. 17th 2012
Today Olivia and I were cleaning the bathroom together, and I was telling her about how my kids were the best thing I’ve ever done with my life. And she said:

“I know mom, you made me, and I’m your most perfect perfect perfect piece of art.”

And it’s SO TRUE.

Apparently I am the greatest artist in the entire universe.

This past week we went down to Grandma’s. The next morning Calvin produced four latex gloves that he had procured for himself while visiting. He asked me to blow them up into balloons.

And then he gave two to Everett, one to Olivia, and kept one for himself.

And that’s just like Calvin. He really is the most thoughtful and kind four year old boy I’ve ever met.

We went to the Valentines Dance last Friday, and the song “Forever Young” by Alphaville came on. Everyone has a “Forever Young” dance song. Mine was especially lame – long story short (can I make a long story short?) – it involved a ninth grade boy awkwardly telling me he didn’t “hate” me at the Christmas dance.

So on Friday night, at the Valentines Dance, when Forever Young came on, this time I asked Calvin to dance, and he said yes. And we spun in circles, and giggled, and he let me cuddle him close. And I closed my eyes to remember this dance – for this would be my new “Forever Young” story, and I finally would have a great one to tell.

And I love that Calvin will be the new center of my dance memory.

We went to the valentines dance.

And Olivia was officially uninterested in hanging out with her mamma and pappa, but was more interested in running around with her little friends. *Sigh*

But lucky for us we had Calvin and EJo to keep us company (Roo sat patiently in his car seat in the corner of the gym). At first Cal wasn’t so sure about this dance stuff, but he really got into it after a while. He even got his groove on and won a prize! (PS – Groovy, that’s his word for describing his moves). Eventually Wyatt and I took a time out to go have our picture taken at the photo booth. When I returned to find my dance partner, he was sleeping sitting up, cookie in hand. I laid him on my lap and enjoyed the festivities from the sideline for the rest of the evening (the last three songs).

It was such a good time, and thank you Cal for being my sweet heart dance buddy.

This summer will be “The Summer of No Pants” – where my days will be spent in comfortable, soft, sweet skirts.

I was so excited I made my first one!

I made a pattern out of newspaper – reminiscent of my mother.

And then cut and sewed and cut and sewed this melony-pink tulle skirt.

Me likey.

“You forgot the question mark” was the first thing he said when he saw it.

“No I didn’t. It’s more of a statement than a question.”

On Monday they spent the afternoon preparing our valentines – signing their names, over and over and over again, each one for a different friend.

For Family Home Evening we made sugar cookies, and decorated them with pink frosting. Each love frosted their own. Everett had patience for only one shmear and set about eating his. Olivia made sure the frosting covered all the cookie real estate in neat even strokes. And Calvin spread his thick, thick and globby.

The next morning, with Olivia at her kindergarten party, valentines autographed from the day before, a special treat for her teacher to boot, and Cal and eJo happy to play with Ila who came to visit, we set about making more cookies. Because who doesn’t need more cookies?

Chocolate chip to be exact, Wyatt’s favorite.

Later, Olivia, Calvin, Everett (and Ila) went to a neighborhood valentines party. More signed goodies, more treats coming home! During the break I took Wyatt a little gift of home made cookies. We promised no valentines – but home made definitely does not count. (And then he broke the treaty and brought me home tulips. Two Lips – it makes me smile).

And then the little loves finished their party, and home we went for a sugar crash. Daddy came home early to play, and with a little dinner in our tummies, we set out to give valentines to all the friends in the neighborhood we had missed.

And when it came bed time the kids went to sleep without a peep, happy and high on sugar, exhausted on activity.

That was Valentines Day 2012.

tonight i am typing on my laptop – something i try to avoid ever since calvin got a hold of it last spring and busted some keys – including the all important ‘shift’ – there will be no capitalization tonight. i may go back later to try and fix it. then again, i may not.

ten years ago today wyatt and i were celebrating our first valentines together by getting on an airplane and flying off to china. salt lake city was the toast of the world, hosting the 2002 winter olympics, and we were leaving the glowing hulabaloo for an unknown adventure in the heart of asia.

that morning i handed wyatt a brown paper bag – my first valentine to him – a few of his favorite candy bars for the flight, and a baseball, signed by yours truly.

and we spent the rest of the day in the air – watching the map on the in flight navigator as we climbed northward along the pacific coast, over alaska, across the bering sea and down the asian side of the pacific. it was very boring.

which sidetracks me to a list:

seas traversed in one way or another:

the bering sea
the baltic sea
the red sea
the dead sea
the mediterenean sea
the sea of galilea
the adriadic sea
the caribbean sea

interesting.

well, there should be more to this story than there is. but really, all of our very first valentines day was spent on airplanes to beijing. how romantic is that?

oh, don’t you worry, there will be a post tomorrow about our tenth valentines. it’s much more interesting.

Because seriously, when was the last time you wrote one?

Seriously, do tell.

Solve the mystery, learn more.

President Petersen is going to die.

When the summer comes again, and I am eating ice cream and laughing with friends beneath the glittering canopy of kerr lanterns, his wife will be a widow, bearing the cross that no mortal hand can lift.

And when I am taking my babies to the rodeo, to watch the cowboys ride and the cowgirls wave, he will be beyond the veil, with knowledge and understanding of those things you always wonder about, but can never bear to fully contemplate.

Today he bore his final testimony before us, the stake he has served so faithfully. His words were of optimism, and of joy. He spoke of the things he has tried to teach us over the years. His most emphatic point: “We are going to make it.”

He assured us that the good lives we are living will seal us to our Father as if we have our election made sure. He told us “we are made of the good stuff.”

He bore his testimony of the witness through the Spirit that he had of the Savior. He assured us that he is a defender of the faith.

And all I could think about was the journey he is about to take – the joy and the bitterness all in the same moment. When my baby is 50, with children and maybe grandchildren of his own, President Petersen will be a faded memory to the world, with few recalling that he ever did live.

But I imagine the Savior won’t forget, and I imagine his testimony will seal the work of his life and open the gates of exaltation to him and his posterity.

And I think that is the reason I felt so honored to be a part of our meetings today.

So I was going to write a “Tales for Tuesday” for her, and publish it on Wednesday. But Wednesday I forgot, I was participating in an online protest.

So today she shall have her story.

When Andi and I were eleven or twelve years old we would on occasion walk ourselves a mile down the road to the old Cottonwood Mall, where we would have lunch at TGI Fridays – chicken fingers, french fries and raspberry apple sauce. It felt very independent and very mature to be going to lunch by ourselves.

And the walk wasn’t so bad. There was water culvert to splash in on the hot days. There was a horse pasture where we could stop and pet an admiring Equine or two. And there was the Holiday cemetery – we never went in, but could entertain each other with stories as we walked trepidly past.

And on one such occasion we were about half way there – just past the pasture, coming up on the cemetery – when we passed by a giant raspberry bush, full and laden with the biggest, the reddest, the ripest raspberries you ever did see. They were just begging to be eaten – the hot sun reflecting on each perfect bubble of red deliciousness.

And so we helped ourselves. That bush was so full. I had never seen so many giant berries before or since, and have often wondered what particular species they were, they were so big.

We ate some. And then we ate some more. We sat down on the hot asphalt to make ourselves comfortable as we ate even more. And then, when we were sure we couldn’t eat any more raspberries, we decided to use our t-shirts as baskets, filling them with the remaining berries, picking that bush clean dry. We ate the rest as we walked home, abandoning our desires for any other lunch.

We ruined our shirts that day with big red splashy stains, convicting us of our guilt.

But of course no one knew a crime had been committed.

It wasn’t until years later — years and years – like just last year, that it occurred to me that those bushes probably actually belonged to someone.

So there they were, off on their way to work, or errands or where ever the wind was taking them that day, and they knew their bush was full and ready for them to come home and pick – ready to reap their harvest.

But when they returned not a berry was in sight!

And raspberries have been my favorite fruit ever since.

I’m going to try and write down memories I have – for my little lovelies who always ask “Tell me a story of when you were a kid . . .”

I’m going to call them “Tales for Tuesdays” – and will try to write one a week . . . unless of course something else happens. In which case I won’t.

You can read all “Tales for Tuesdays” here.

Check out that bedhead, and that “I just woke up, get that camera out of my face” scowl. Ah, Everett, will I ever grow accustomed to you adorable-ness?

Roo got to eat his first foods – oh so exciting, if only he could figure out how to get his tongue to work so it doesn’t just push the food out and away. We’ll keep practicing.

I found this “CTR” on the top of the piano the other day when cleaning. Olivia made it out of waxed string. (And yes, that is post-christmas glitter, still littering my pianotop).

We’ve had such an unusual January – the other day we went outside to ride scooters (coats weren’t really even necessary, but felt important by me nonetheless).

Yes, Olivia poses now when ever I take a picture of her. She’s got it down, wouldn’t you say?

After a mildly stressful week we decided to have a low key Saturday – jammies all day! Wyatt played legos with the boys!

Wyatt impressed all with his car building ability.

Everett made a nice stack.

And Cal made a house (and windmill, not shown here).

And Roo played happily on the floor – out of reach of any legos that he might try to consume. We didn’t need to add an Emergency Room trip to our day.

Olivia confided that she wanted a canopy over her bed – like a canopy bed with posts, but I told her I had something better! (Ta Da!) Upstairs in the closet I had this old net that I made for Olivia’s baby room. It hung over her crib, but has been in storage for a few years. I’m so glad it’s getting used again! (We had to rearrange her flower poufs, which she was quite concerned about, but in the end I think she was rather pleased). (Click on the picture to see a detail of her room).

After that Olivia wanted to play in her room all day. So we played Barbies. Here are all her dolls, dressed modestly and ready to go. (Mostly modestly).

“Why do they even make those dresses?” Olivia asked me about her immodest Barbie dresses. I was stumped. Why do they even make those dresses?