I met Kayla in the third grade. She was one of those bright and laughing kids who always had a packed lunch and a glittery box to carry it in. I, on the other hand, was the kid who was habitually without lunch money and was ushered, unceremoniously, to the end of the line.
After an unfortunate cafeteria puking episode involving Kayla's granola bar and her unsettled tummy, her daily kudos bar was up for grabs in the lunchtime barter system. While her unwanted snack could have traded up for a cherry flavored fruit roll up or even a handful of skittles, it usually found its way to me. Since mom had a zero tolerance policy on eating sweets at home, this was an exceedingly extravagant gesture in my sugar starved life. We were instant friends.
My first examination of Kayla's childhood bedroom confronted me with a new world of unsupervised chaos. Already chewed bubble gum wadded up into crumpled pieces of paper littered her pretty pink landscape. Naked barbies and kens posed in compromising positions were sprinkled throughout her toy chest and hiding places. It was all such an overwhelming contrast to my world of order, obedience, and cleanliness. I pledged my undying devotion to her then and there.
Kayla and I would soon develop our own personal brand of hilarity that no one else seemed to understand. We would freeze the underwear of unsuspecting slumber party guests that fell asleep too early. We would stuff socks under out shirts and smear goopy make up on our faces to imitate what we thought were ridiculous images of womanhood. We invented an underwater sign language so we could communicate urgent messages to each other in the pool like, "Lets go to the store and buy more candy." There were skits too, satirizing things we saw on HBO or MTV. Like obsessed anthropologists we documented our findings on camera and video.
Kayla would grow up and move away to a nicer neighborhood in a nicer town before we entered High School. My life was a constant struggle then, between lack of resources and lack of attention. Left to my unglamorous after school job, watching the neighborhood girls get whisked away for prom in fluffy dresses and stretched limos, I became weary of my lifelong position at the end of the line. I became resentful of the pristine cheerful existence that I did not have.
As we became young women I would continue to view Kayla's life as one of pretty pink bedrooms, doting moms, and financial privilege. I was unable to understand the challenges Kayla faced being raised by a single mom or the quiet illness Kayla's mom battled without complaint. I was unable to fathom that we were more same than we were different. Our paths would, in time, diverge.
Kayla and I don't know each other anymore, though we correspond once every few years. I am thrilled that she has found a fulfilled life as a wife, new mother, and as a writer. As my final act of devotion, I bring her memories with me, and continue our work documenting the strange hilarity of womanhood. If I have a little girl one day, I will make sure she gets a special lunch box and a video camera.
A little glue gun will take you a long way. I added these rhinestones to frosted ornaments.
The craft store sells these clear ornaments for pennies. I like to stuff them with tinsel.
Etching cream is a super affordable way to make something plain look more interesting. I etched these Christmas tree designs directly onto plain glass bulbs.
I must have made these paper mache hearts a million years ago but I still love them. You can find preformed paper ornaments at the craft store for pennies and paint them yourself or have the kids do it.
