Disney Morals

I just took my four year-old to see Beauty and the Beast in the movie theater and now I feel I must atone for that but posting this captioned image which has been circulating like mad on Facebook. I particularly enjoy the Beauty one because that story is the one I've been able to spin so that there's a decent morale to it -- its what's on the INSIDE that counts -- except that, yes, this caption is right, it only applies to men. And anyway, your toad will probably turn into a prince in the end anyway, so really you only have to tolerate his freakish appearance for a limited period of time.

Snow White Goes to Med School

I have the best babysitter on earth. A lot of people say that, but I think it’s true in this case. I’m sure not everyone would consider her the best, particularly if you are the kind of parent who wants your house clean when you come home to it. Forget doing dishes or laundry. The girl doesn’t so much as pick up an overturned basket of Barbie brushes. But what she lacks in tidiness, she makes up for in kick-ass-ness.

I should note, too, that she’s my cousin. So I’m biased. But she is pretty amazing.

First, she introduced my 5 year-old to Gothic literature and inspired him to read Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein by the end of first grade.

Then, last week, she took the kids to Barnes and Nobles. When Sec goes to Barnes and Nobles, she heads right for the Disney princess section. This is not hard to do as basically, the entire children’s section is one large Disney Princess section. They’ve sprinkled a few of those aggravating Ariel books that play music and those magnetic Cinderella dress-up dolls into every display, just so you never have to walk two feet without being bathed in the glow of commercialism.

I loathe reading the Disney princess books to her. I don’t so much mind playing with the Disney princess Barbies or watching the Disney princess movies but something about having to pretend the crap I’m reading is literature makes my stomach churn. Still, reading about Belle and her new pony is better than not reading at all. So, I suck down my dignity and read “A dream wedding for Cinderella!” and other noxious titles. Lately, Sec’s been into the Easy Reader Princess books which is a double whammy of horror, being both easy readers (need I remind you of my distaste for Mittens?) and about princesses. Mind you, she doesn’t want to read them herself, in which case, I’d turn a blind eye. She wants me to read them.

“Belle has sweet ballet dreams. Will she wear a tutu or a gown?”

“Aurora loves to spin and twirl. Prance, princess, prance!”

I feel dirty afterwards.

But last week, my cousin was watching the kids and took them to Barnes and Nobles and Primo had a GLOWING report afterwards, boasting about how my cousin had made the awful princess stories funny and unexpected.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“She didn’t read what was on the page, but made it BETTER,” he clarified, “So they aren’t such bad influences on Seconda.”

Who knows WHERE he comes up with this stuff? It’s not like I brainwash the kid.

“Like, she was reading this Snow White book and said, ‘Snow White was in medical school and so she taught the dwarves the value of proper hygiene.’”

“What else?” I asked him.

“Tiana knew she had a bond with the prince but she still didn’t want it to mess up her MBA.”

“Cinderella was very beautiful but she knew that science was more important.”

“Beauty was polite but she was also independent and thought for herself.”

“Sleeping Beauty enjoyed fashion but her true love was politics.”

Genius, I think. And it had the double virtue of not only giving princess-crazed Sec what she wanted as well as what she needed but entertaining Primo to no end.

Now THAT’S a dream babysitter right there.

Surprise Guest Blogger

I was sitting at my computer about to write a blog post when Primo happened by and asked what I was doing.

“I’m just writing a post for my blog,” I said, “Do you have any ideas for me? Something interesting or funny which happened lately or which I should talk about?”

Primo said, “I wish I had a computer so I could write blog posts."

And that was when I invited him to guest blog for me. He decided to write about his sister’s princess fixation.

Here’s what he came up with:

The Tragical Story of Squeaky Princesses

It all a started out when we got the movie Snow White. Sec watched a princess with a squeaky voice. The next day, Seconda was asking for a Snow White shirt. Mommy said, “No.” The next day, we went to New Jersey. That’s when she watched Sleeping Beauty, ANOTHER princess with a squeaky voice. The next day, she asked for a Sleeping Beauty bike. Those people that make princess bikes just want money, you know. Then, Mommy had an idea. Every time, Seconda got enough points, by being good, she could get what she wanted. The next week, she got a princess bike basket. My face turned red. That’s because I was angry that Seconda got princess stuff, because they have squeaky voices and they scream in a very squeaky scream when they’re scared. If you don’t understand, I mean that I think they are annoying.

My strategy for getting Sec off the princess habit, is to tell a princess story with also other stuff, with wizards, witches, goblins, ghosts, evil kings, lava bosses and knights. That will cure her.

Dude, I’ve got myself a new guest blogger. And for him, I guess its better than a paper route, though less lucrative.

Bob Marley’s on the Tangled soundtrack. Sure, why not?

Like many four year-old girls, Seconda is newly obsessed with Tangled, the new Disney movie about Rapunzel. It has even overtaken her Snow White obsession, and for the most part that’s not a bad thing. I mean, Tangled isn’t really any less offensive from a feminist point of view – sure, Rapunzel's not a total moron like Snow White, and she knows how to knock a guy unconscious with a frying pan – but a dashing stranger still ends up rescuing the damsel in distress, and in the process, wins her hand in marriage. So its not like some big improvement to have replaced one Disney fairytale with another, There is, however, one way in which Tangled is a real improvement and that is in terms of the music. Look, no one’s going to deny "Heigh-Ho" and "Whistle While you Work" are catchy ditties but those are two out of a dozen songs on the soundtrack which Sec has been insisting we listen to for months. The soundtrack is mainly background music, with lots of villainous swells and string instruments chirping away frantically like the bids of the forest. There's one ballad thrown in, sung in Snow White’s I-just-sucked-helium voice, which goes "I’m wishing/ I’m wishing/ for the one I love/ to find me/ to find me/today.” Not the kind of lyric or melodic complexity to sustain repeat listening. That's a nice way to say after you hear it three times in a row, you start fantasizing about a bear happening into the scene and attacking that pale, puny princess.

The Tangled soundtrack, featuring the vocal stylings of Mandy Moore, is pretty much pop crap, yes, but its nice-sounding pop crap, with creative rhymes. The best part is litening to Seconda belt out those ballads full on American Idol-style, with her vibratto shaking the walls of the car and her soft whisper quavering at all the right emotional places: ‘And at LAAAAAAAST I see the liiiiiights and the fog has somehow (whisper) lifted/ and its WAAARM and rel and BRIIIIIIGHT!" If Star Search was still on the air, Sec would be THERE.

But even Seconda accompanying Mandy Moore gets old after about two hours. So last weekend, when we were driving home from New Jersey, after we’d heard “At Last I see the Lights” at least five times, I surreptitiously selected Legend by Bob Marley on the iTouch, and “Is This Love?” started playing.

"Hey! This isn't TANGLED!" she observed.

"It isn't?" I asked.

"No, its not!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," But she didn't seem convinced. So rapacious is her love for the soundtrack that I could tell she was falling prey to the powers of wishful thinking, allowing herself to believe it was possible.

"Maybe its the bonus tracks!" I suggested.

"This doesn't sound like Tangled," she noted, but she was listening, now, with interest.

"But its about love!" I said, really selling it now. "Maybe its about how Flynn Rider and Rapunzel are wondering if its love that they are feeling."

She considered, quietly. The song finished, and “No Woman, No Cry” came on.

"Is this from Tangled too?" she asked.

"Could be," I said, "Maybe its Flynn telling Rapunzel not to cry, because she can bring him back to life with her golden tears."

And in thi way, we listened to half of Legend. Is there a better testament to how universal Bob Marley's lyrics are, that you can connect each of the songs to the 2010 Disney remake of Rapunzel?

By hook or by crook, baby.

Cinderella Ate My Daughter

If you've been following my losing battle against the princess parasite, you will not be surprised to hear how excited I was when I heard there was a new book out entitled Cinderella Ate My Daughter. Now, I haven't read the book yet, but the Times review by Annie Murphy Paul, had me hooked and I am DYING to dig in. In the book, Peggy Orenstein heads to toy fairs, beauty pageants, American Girl stores and Miley Ciris concerts, trying to figure out why and how the "princess phase" has become a more or less inevitable milestone of childhood for girls, what that phase morphs into, and at what cost our daughters feed the princess machine. This is Paul summing up the book's explanation of the very calculated invention of "Disney Princess":

"in 2000 a Disney executive named Andy Mooney went to check out a “Disney on Ice” show and found himself “surrounded by little girls in princess costumes. Princess costumes that were — horrors! — homemade. How had such a massive branding opportunity been overlooked? The very next day he called together his team and they began working on what would become known in-house as ‘Princess.’ ”

Kind of creeps you out, right? But as far as I can tell, Orenstein isn't arguing that Disney and the rest of the toy companies have invented the yen for girliness, they've only found a way to sate it and make bank. Here's the part that really engrossed me:

"Orenstein finds one such enlightening explanation in developmental psychology research showing that until as late as age 7, children are convinced that external signs — clothing, hairstyle, favorite color, choice of toys — determine one’s sex. “It makes sense, then, that to ensure you will stay the sex you were born you’d adhere rigidly to the rules as you see them and hope for the best,” she writes. “That’s why 4-year-olds, who are in what is called ‘the inflexible stage,’ become the self-­appointed chiefs of the gender police. Suddenly the magnetic lure of the Disney Princesses became more clear to me: developmentally speaking, they were genius, dovetailing with the precise moment that girls need to prove they are girls, when they will latch on to the most exaggerated images their culture offers in order to stridently shore up their femininity.”"

I find this fascinating because it seems so in line with what I've witnessed in Seconda. Her desire to wear princess dress-up is, in no way, causal -- it's not even a desire so much as an urgent need, and when she is not wearing a frilly dress, she gets genuinely worked up, frantic. Now sure, this is partly because I've got a kid that could get frantic over getting the wrong kind of breakfast cereal, but I see, too, that when she's not donning her dress, she feels in jeopardy in some way. And I'm reminded of how even a year or two ago, she would go apopletic when I put pants on her, insisting, "BUT I'M A GIRL!!!"

I'm wondering, though, why boys don't typically demonstrate such a fervent need as well. Maybe when I read the book, I'll find out.

In any event, I'm soon to be attending the same toy fair Orenstein mentions in her book and while I'm there, I'll be going to a talk on "Rethinking the Gender Bias in Toys", so fret not, readers, you'll be hearing more on the matter.

Disney Princess Makeup

When the New Year started, David and I took a good, long look at the state of our children’s behavior (not that a long look was necessary) and realized it was basically crap. Please be clear: I’m not saying, ala Amy Chua, Tiger Mother, that my kids are crap, only that their behavior is. You know the way adults sort of slack off on their diets over the holidays and then, come New Year’s decide, they’ve got to do something about the unmistakable bulge that’s developed? This is precisely what happened to my children, except that instead of gaining weight, they gained gall, attitude and anarchic leanings. All those presents and candy and cake and time off from school eroded their already questionable devotion to rules and order.

So, in order to aid our return to discipline, we resuscitated the old sticker charts. Primo’s sticker chart is specifically targeted to reward brave behavior, because he’s Achilles Hell is worry. It was more difficult to decide what issue Seconda’s sticker chart should address since she has a few areas that need drastic improvement. We settled on a “listening chart” to acknowledge and reward instances of good listening and cooperation. It has taken a long time, but she has finally early the requisite 25 stickers necessary for a small reward of her choice. And what she chose was . . . Disney princess makeup. I will pause as you throw up in your mouth a little.

Disney Princess Makeup.

Each of these three things taken separately are not so objectionable – I certainly appreciate Walt’s contribution to the cinema; there are a lot of stirring and compelling princess narratives; and hey, I enjoy body art of all types -- tattoos, nail polish, facepaint, whatever the hell floats your boat. But put together Disney and Princess and Makeup and you get a total abomination. The kit she selected contained some stick-on nail tips, a tube of lip balm, a pot of lip gloss and one bottle of sparkly nail polish, everything covered in pastel images of Snow White, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty’s smiling faces. The thought of my daughter applying cheap-o, probably toxic makeup in the hopes of making her sublime, perfect face more closely resemble those of the anemic, moronic women who contain absolutely no chutzpah, cojones or problem-solving skills, fills me with agony, However, I keenly remember feeling the same irresistible pull to the princess crap. Hell, if I’m being honest, I STILL do, in part, You see those ruby red lips and the perfect bows sitting atop their shiny do’s and you’re hypnotized. You are rendered powerless under the spell of pretty. So I wasn’t about to put my foot down and ban princesses, especially since I know that’ll only make her want it more.

So, I paid for the makeup, all the while reminding Seconda that it was fun to play with makeup but that she didn’t NEED it to be pretty, that what makes her pretty is her free spirit and her kindness and big glittering eyes and her sense of humor.

“OK,” she said, “Now can I have the princess makeup?”

I was worried that she’d fight me to wear it to school but that turned out to be a moot point. After a half hour shrieking and squealing and ooohing and ahhing, Seconda got quiet and disappeared. This was suspicious but I didn’t want to look the gift horse of peace and quiet in the mouth so I did not look for her. Then, as I was crossing my legs at the table where I sat typing, my foot banged into something soft. A child. My child, hiding gunder the table.

I knew whatever she was doing was going to be bad, that’s how quiet and well-hidden she was. So I took a deep breath before pulling up the tablecloth. There was Sec, buck naked, her body smeared in Disney Princess Lip Gloss, and the stick of lip balm chewed down to the nub. Not only had she covered herself in pretty, she’d ingested the pretty. That kid never does anything half-ass.

So, just like that, we were rid of the Disney Princess Makeup. Sometimes letting them glut themselves can do the trick.

The Pretty Princess Parasite

Recently, my 2 year-old has a fixation on affirming her gender. She just says, “I’m a girl!” all the time, and I know that she means it in contrast to a boy, rather than in contrast to a hippo because she will say it to me too, “Mommy, you’re a girl!” and she regretfully informs her father, “You’re not a girl!” I don’t know what it means to her to be a girl, but I like how much she enjoys being what she is so I usually reply, “Yeah, I’m a girl too – hooray for us!”

She’s right too, that I’m a girl. Not just a woman, but a real girly girl. I wear lots of pink and plenty pf makeup and Chanel perfume, and haven’t seen my natural hair color since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. I love my woman parts even if they aren’t what they once were, I love to dress up and shop for shoes and drink champagne and fruity mixed drinks.

But I’ve tried, to some extent, to shield Seconda from my relentless girliness because I live in fear of the day she’ll go all “princess” on me. Am I making enemies here? I know a lot of great, smart little girls who’ve succumbed to princess mania and it doesn’t mean they’re not formidable forces in their own right, but I have to say, the princess shit drives me nuts.

Its not that I don’t like the movie Cinderella – hell, it was one of my favorites as a kid, and we let Primo watch it a bunch of times – but with Seconda, I’m a little more hesitant. I don’t want to inject her with the parasite of putting pretty before everything else. What’s so great about Cinderella anyway? I mean, she’s compassionate and beautiful, but not terribly interesting. Not terribly bright or self-reliant. Ditto for Belle, although she’s got a bit more fire in her. And the Little Mermaid is fun, she’s a redhead after all, and feisty, a rebel even, but it does bum me out that she gives up her voice – I mean, could there be a more literal metaphor for the danger here? – to be with some guy who is, when you get right down to it, a total borefest. The interesting female character there is Ursula – she’s got a slamming voice and some great rhyming skills and is incredibly powerful. What power does a princess really have, at least the Disney variety? My daughter right now, is a powerhouse. She may not be the most well-behaved kid or the most generous yet, but she’s smart as a damn whip and funny, the kind of kid you’d like to spend an hour talking to. I will just perish the day she begs me to buy her a poofy princess dress and matching glass slippers.

So, when she looks really cute, and every girl instinct in me threatens to call out, “Oh you’re my little princess!” I instead exclaim, “You look like the queen of the fairies!” I don’t know how much good it does, but at least a queen has power and fairies do magic, and anyway, it’s a reference to Spenser, which mitigates any harm.

Now she’s started to proclaim the same thing, so after we slip a flouncy three-tiered sun dress on her, she’ll run around the house yelling, “LOOK AT ME - I’m the QUEEN OF THE FAIRIES!”

We can only do our best, right?