So, call me a sucker, but I just can't leave animals out running wild when I know they're not wild animals. Mark and I have found (and returned) enough dogs over the course of our relationship to start an orphanage. Swear. Just last week we found a Chihuahua. No tags, no collar, nothing. Thank GAWD the owner posted all over our subdivision, and we were able to return her within a matter of hours. A few months back it was a Schnauzer mix from the neighborhood next door. This one was well-marked and returned faster than that. Before THAT it was a Jack Russell that we found running on the side of the road (a busy one), thankfully the owner was only a few minutes behind him. Last summer, "Lucky" wandered over to our house to play 4 times before we told the owners that we would call animal control the next time...which we actually ended up having to do. I digress...
Last night around 7:45pm, it was raining and nasty and chilly out, and 2 adorable little dogs wandered into our yard..Mark had just been telling me about a bird who had been dive-bombing our poor cat for awhile, so when I heard him say "Oh. no. Oh. My. God." I was certain that the bird had succeeded in his efforts to at least maim our poor guy. Nope. I was wrong. There were the 2 cutest little orphans one ever did see...and WHO would leave them out in the cold and rain? Well, apparently, most other people that I've talked to...not us. First, I walked them through our neighborhood, which was completely quiet. There were no signs of anyone searching for these ladies...So then Mark took off in his Jeep with them to look around the neighborhoods nearby and then to the Emergency vet to see if they were micro-chipped or if anyone had come looking there for them. Nope, no luck...so he came home and slept on the kitchen floor with them.
He did this, of course, because they are suffering from some kind of separation anxiety and would bark and cry if someone left the room. It's not like we had 2 sleeping kids and another female (territorial) dog in the house or anything. I mean, what the eff?! So rather than spend my day pricing crap for my garage sale, which starts TOMORROW, I have spent the day trying to acclimate all of the dogs, keep the kids happy, clean up poop (from a potty training toddler AND one of the dogs--not sure which one), oh AND clean up toys so the new dogs don't eat them.
At any rate, I am pretty sure there is an invisible sign that only dogs can see and read (somewhat like a dog whistle?) in our yard that says: "Lost/Orphaned Animals Welcome. Will feed, bathe & love. Ask for nothing in return." Yes, we're saps. But I'm pretty certain it will pay off in one way or another. That's Karma, folks, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Til Next time...
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
All Kidding Aside...An Update on My Birth Trauma
For all of those who have offered me any kind of support since the birth of Genevieve, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, even if it was just by listening to me or reading my story. It has been a difficult road, but it's one that I am almost grateful for because it has given me so much perspective and has allowed me to understand the countless women who have endured what I have. I remember wondering in the beginning if time really does heal all things and how much scar tissue would remain in the weeks, months, and years that would follow that day.
I remember wondering how I would love my second daughter as much as my first, being that her birth was such a painful experience and one that I knew would haunt me for a long time to come. I remember thinking about it every single time I looked at her face, no matter how perfect and beautiful she was. Each time I looked at her, each time I held her, every single suckle at my breast I was holding back tears. Add to that the fact that our breastfeeding relationship started out as rocky as could ever be possible, and one can easily see why I felt the way that I did. Each day brought new trials, each hour tested my character and tenacity. I remember wondering how on Earth I would make it through 6 weeks of nursing when so much trauma had occurred in the first hours and days.
That said, I wanted to let everyone know that though time hasn't necessarily healed me, it has allowed me to understand that life isn't perfect. It has allowed me to realize that sometimes you have to detour in order to really see the beauty around you. So even though Genevieve's birth was horrible and painful and unfair, I have bonded with her in a way that I had always hoped was possible. A week or so ago, Birthing Naturally posted on Facebook and posed a very interesting question about breastfeeding: who taught you? Was it a nurse, a lactation consultant, a book, a friend, your baby? So, I thought about it...and it made me realize that Genevieve Rose has taught me. She and I are making this journey together, each day as we learn from one another and grow our bond. Who would have ever thought that a baby could teach you how to breastfeed? I've got all the best books out there, had lactation consultants and nurses at my disposal, friends who have been there done that, and the best teacher is my beautiful daughter.
I think what makes this so much more important is that Genevieve has helped to heal the pain of not being able to nurse Hayden. I was absolutely devastated when I had to start formula with her at 6 months. I felt that my body had failed me, that I had failed to do what every woman is meant to do. So it's like I've come full circle. And even though I know there will always be some amount of pain associated with Genevieve's birth, she has healed the pain I had with not being able to breastfeed Hayden. She's an amazing teacher, and I told Mark yesterday, she truly is the BEST medicine.
And at 4 months and change, she is my breastfeeding TROPHY, weighing in at 17lbs 8oz!
Til next time...
I remember wondering how I would love my second daughter as much as my first, being that her birth was such a painful experience and one that I knew would haunt me for a long time to come. I remember thinking about it every single time I looked at her face, no matter how perfect and beautiful she was. Each time I looked at her, each time I held her, every single suckle at my breast I was holding back tears. Add to that the fact that our breastfeeding relationship started out as rocky as could ever be possible, and one can easily see why I felt the way that I did. Each day brought new trials, each hour tested my character and tenacity. I remember wondering how on Earth I would make it through 6 weeks of nursing when so much trauma had occurred in the first hours and days.
That said, I wanted to let everyone know that though time hasn't necessarily healed me, it has allowed me to understand that life isn't perfect. It has allowed me to realize that sometimes you have to detour in order to really see the beauty around you. So even though Genevieve's birth was horrible and painful and unfair, I have bonded with her in a way that I had always hoped was possible. A week or so ago, Birthing Naturally posted on Facebook and posed a very interesting question about breastfeeding: who taught you? Was it a nurse, a lactation consultant, a book, a friend, your baby? So, I thought about it...and it made me realize that Genevieve Rose has taught me. She and I are making this journey together, each day as we learn from one another and grow our bond. Who would have ever thought that a baby could teach you how to breastfeed? I've got all the best books out there, had lactation consultants and nurses at my disposal, friends who have been there done that, and the best teacher is my beautiful daughter.
I think what makes this so much more important is that Genevieve has helped to heal the pain of not being able to nurse Hayden. I was absolutely devastated when I had to start formula with her at 6 months. I felt that my body had failed me, that I had failed to do what every woman is meant to do. So it's like I've come full circle. And even though I know there will always be some amount of pain associated with Genevieve's birth, she has healed the pain I had with not being able to breastfeed Hayden. She's an amazing teacher, and I told Mark yesterday, she truly is the BEST medicine.
And at 4 months and change, she is my breastfeeding TROPHY, weighing in at 17lbs 8oz!
Til next time...
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Playset Envy: The Story of Our Swingset
So, we did it. We bought a swingset. It's funny that when you're in the market for one, you start checking out other people's sets like you check out cars. You compare, contrast, stop & stare. It's pretty sick, actually. I think Mark and I have both almost wrecked while checking out someone else's swingset...
So we checked around and decided to go with Lowe's. We first went to Home Depot because I found one online that I liked that was $870. It's a lot, but you know it's worth it not to have to drag everyone out of the house, load up the car and go to a park with the baby...oh, and a 2 year-old who'd much rather get 40 vaccines in a day than listen to anything Mommy tells her to do. So we get there only to find out that this price doesn't include a SLIDE (???) or the support beams needed to complete the assembly. Who the EFF thought of this one? I mean, when you buy a KIT for a swingset, you would THINK it would include the things you need to put the damn thing together, right? Anyway, after making my case to the manager about why this was the most misleading and ridiculous thing I've ever seen, she basically said that she's not the company who makes the kit, and so she's not responsible. So off to Lowe's we went!
Our first trip was to the one over on Shadeland. We were directed to the right aisle by a super nice guy...GREAT start! I looked and immediately fell in love with the most expensive one (DAMMIT)...I mean,
it has a BRIDGE, people!
So I decided we had to have it, and I needed to speak with the manager so we could get a deal on it. As soon as I saw this character, I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere with him, but I gave it a go anyway. I told him I wanted 10% off, and he asked me WHY? I told him that I knew I didn't have to pay full price, and that was that. He told me I needed to "work with" him in order for him to work with me. Ridiculous, right? I mean, *I* am the customer. *I* am the one who is either going to drop the cash or walk out of your store with nada. Well, he chose to let me walk out...and right over to the store on Post instead. I walked directly to the customer service desk and told the assistant manager that I wanted the swingset, and I wanted 10% off. He said "no problem." So we bought it right then. How exciting! We set up delivery for the following Friday because this thing is the size of a CAR, and we'd have no way of getting it to our house.
So I get a call Friday around lunch time that the delivery guy cannot find the swingset, and he asked me how I'd like to proceed. Um, how about you find my damn swingset that I paid well over $1K for and drive it on over to my house?! I had to practically hold this guy's hand and explain how to problem solve...hilarious. I asked if they could get it from a different store (preferrably the Shadeland location!), and he said he'd try to get his hands on one and give me a call back. So he calls back a few hours later to tell me they found mine in HIS store. He said it was "hiding." Really??? HIDING?! Like how you stash a doorbuster deal on Black Friday? I can totally see some lady doing that with this thing. Anyway, I held back my laughter and told him that was great. So we reset delivery for the following day.
It was the most ridiculous circus I've ever seen. It came on a flatbed semi, and he had to get it off using a forklift. Well, the box is longer than it is wide, so he had to pick the pallet up so that it was much wider than it was long. He wanted us to move BOTH vehicles out of our garage in order to get it in...UM, NO. So I explained to Mark that it was ridiculous that he couldn't figure out that he could drop it in the driveway and then use the forklift to PUSH it into the garage long-ways, rather than lifting it in and taking up the entire garage. I went inside to take a few deep breaths, and amazingly, my plan worked!
So now we're just waiting for my dad to come down to put the thing together. I promise to post more pictures of the entire charade once we're all done!
Til next time...
So we checked around and decided to go with Lowe's. We first went to Home Depot because I found one online that I liked that was $870. It's a lot, but you know it's worth it not to have to drag everyone out of the house, load up the car and go to a park with the baby...oh, and a 2 year-old who'd much rather get 40 vaccines in a day than listen to anything Mommy tells her to do. So we get there only to find out that this price doesn't include a SLIDE (???) or the support beams needed to complete the assembly. Who the EFF thought of this one? I mean, when you buy a KIT for a swingset, you would THINK it would include the things you need to put the damn thing together, right? Anyway, after making my case to the manager about why this was the most misleading and ridiculous thing I've ever seen, she basically said that she's not the company who makes the kit, and so she's not responsible. So off to Lowe's we went!
Our first trip was to the one over on Shadeland. We were directed to the right aisle by a super nice guy...GREAT start! I looked and immediately fell in love with the most expensive one (DAMMIT)...I mean,
it has a BRIDGE, people!
So I get a call Friday around lunch time that the delivery guy cannot find the swingset, and he asked me how I'd like to proceed. Um, how about you find my damn swingset that I paid well over $1K for and drive it on over to my house?! I had to practically hold this guy's hand and explain how to problem solve...hilarious. I asked if they could get it from a different store (preferrably the Shadeland location!), and he said he'd try to get his hands on one and give me a call back. So he calls back a few hours later to tell me they found mine in HIS store. He said it was "hiding." Really??? HIDING?! Like how you stash a doorbuster deal on Black Friday? I can totally see some lady doing that with this thing. Anyway, I held back my laughter and told him that was great. So we reset delivery for the following day.
It was the most ridiculous circus I've ever seen. It came on a flatbed semi, and he had to get it off using a forklift. Well, the box is longer than it is wide, so he had to pick the pallet up so that it was much wider than it was long. He wanted us to move BOTH vehicles out of our garage in order to get it in...UM, NO. So I explained to Mark that it was ridiculous that he couldn't figure out that he could drop it in the driveway and then use the forklift to PUSH it into the garage long-ways, rather than lifting it in and taking up the entire garage. I went inside to take a few deep breaths, and amazingly, my plan worked!
Til next time...
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Whose Paradise Is THIS?!
So I pretty much stopped listening to the radio several years ago when I discovered Napster. Why is that? You might ask. Well, it's because pop stations (and I imagine other stations as well) generally play the same 10 songs over and over and over. I would hear what I thought to be a great song and would be sick of it by day 3 on the radio because I had heard it 50 bajillion times. I mean, yeah, it's a great song and all, but monotony drives me insane. I think it probably gets on most people's nerves.
Well, I have news for you, people. If you think the radio is bad, try having a toddler! I LOVE Disney. I love Radio Disney, the Disney Channel, Disney movies, Disney theme parks, Disney anything. That said, I am going to drink the Disney haterade (that has been circulating for a couple weeks now---a blog for another day) for just a moment. My little one has latched onto "This Is My Paradise" from Bridgit Mendler like her ratty little bunny that she can't sleep without. However, I didn't realize this until after I had purchased the mp3 and put it on her playlist for car rides...
Case in point: yesterday, we rode all the way from Greenwood to Geist in "Paradise." With anything else, I can tell her "all done" or "all gone," and we move on with our lives. For some reason, though, this is one song she's not willing to let go. So I had a choice yesterday: listen to her scream bloody murder because she wants to hear Bridgit -OR- listen to Bridgit for 45 minutes...I chose Bridgit. I think it was the lesser of 2 evils, really, even though I do think the song is cute. If I had let her cry, I'd have had TWO screamers because the baby would've been startled and scared. Also, I'm pretty sure I would've suffered some kind of temporary (possibly permanent?) hearing loss if I allowed my little monster to scream. She has quite a set of lungs. So, I believe I made the right choice.
I guess, more than anything, I find it fascinating that someone her age can show such a preference for anything. The girl clearly has preferences, too. Tinkerbell is one of them. If she sees anything with Tinkerbell on it, she goes nuts. She always has, even back before she could say anything. Hell, she still can't SAY Tinkerbell. Doesn't matter, though, she loves her. She also loves dresses. If I put her in a dress, she just lights up. It's the cutest thing you've ever seen, honestly. It melts my heart. She loves to spin and twirl in her dresses...And now Bridgit's new song. So, I am truly hoping that this phase passes soon so that I can enjoy some of the other songs that Radio Disney has to offer!
Til next time...
Well, I have news for you, people. If you think the radio is bad, try having a toddler! I LOVE Disney. I love Radio Disney, the Disney Channel, Disney movies, Disney theme parks, Disney anything. That said, I am going to drink the Disney haterade (that has been circulating for a couple weeks now---a blog for another day) for just a moment. My little one has latched onto "This Is My Paradise" from Bridgit Mendler like her ratty little bunny that she can't sleep without. However, I didn't realize this until after I had purchased the mp3 and put it on her playlist for car rides...
Case in point: yesterday, we rode all the way from Greenwood to Geist in "Paradise." With anything else, I can tell her "all done" or "all gone," and we move on with our lives. For some reason, though, this is one song she's not willing to let go. So I had a choice yesterday: listen to her scream bloody murder because she wants to hear Bridgit -OR- listen to Bridgit for 45 minutes...I chose Bridgit. I think it was the lesser of 2 evils, really, even though I do think the song is cute. If I had let her cry, I'd have had TWO screamers because the baby would've been startled and scared. Also, I'm pretty sure I would've suffered some kind of temporary (possibly permanent?) hearing loss if I allowed my little monster to scream. She has quite a set of lungs. So, I believe I made the right choice.
I guess, more than anything, I find it fascinating that someone her age can show such a preference for anything. The girl clearly has preferences, too. Tinkerbell is one of them. If she sees anything with Tinkerbell on it, she goes nuts. She always has, even back before she could say anything. Hell, she still can't SAY Tinkerbell. Doesn't matter, though, she loves her. She also loves dresses. If I put her in a dress, she just lights up. It's the cutest thing you've ever seen, honestly. It melts my heart. She loves to spin and twirl in her dresses...And now Bridgit's new song. So, I am truly hoping that this phase passes soon so that I can enjoy some of the other songs that Radio Disney has to offer!
Til next time...
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Where's My Effing Chapstick?!
Here's the thing: I have never, ever had to buy chapstick because I ran out. EVER. Chapstick is like socks. You know, it magically disappears without regard to reason. And why is that exactly? If I'm looking for my favorite lipgloss or lipstick (which I rarely wear btw, I'm more of a gloss girl), I have no trouble locating it. If it's chapstick, something ridiculous happens. It miraculously disappears as though David Copperfield himself came into my house and "abracadabra-d" it to his basement...or wherever it is that he keeps stuff that he makes disappear. Either that or I leave it in my pocket (the one day of the week that I'm not wearing yoga pants and actually put jeans on), and it goes therough the washer and dryer. Or my dog eats it. Or better yet, my toddler eats it. It drives me insane.
However, I am making it my new year's resolution (I realize I'm a bit late to the party on that one) to make it through an entire tube of chapstick without David Copperfield stealing it. Even if it's just one, I'll feel like it was a monumental victory.
Til next time...
However, I am making it my new year's resolution (I realize I'm a bit late to the party on that one) to make it through an entire tube of chapstick without David Copperfield stealing it. Even if it's just one, I'll feel like it was a monumental victory.
Til next time...
Why People Are Not @$$holes
So I was thinking this morning, while Hubby was driving us to my hair appointment, and I said to him, "I think I'm going to start calling people potholes instead of a**holes." This was after we almost crashed the truck and would have then gone flying into Fall Creek (okay, a bit of an exaggeration, but still) due to an exorbitant amount of potholes on 79th Street. He looked at me, quite perplexed, and so I went into an explanation of why this is a completely sensible alternative.
The entire premise of calling someone an a**hole is due to the fact that they have been rude, disrespectful, hurtful, or *insert negatively charged adjective here.* Well, my line of thinking is that this doesn't really fit with what the true definition is of what an a**hole actually is. I mean, an a**hole isn't so bad, is it? It actually aids in ridding the body of toxins and waste. Maybe it's not the most attractive piece of my anatomy, but there's no reason to hate on it by using it to reference rude, mean and disrespectful people. The a**hole isn't vile or unforgiving or disrespectful or damaging or hurtful.
Potholes, on the other hand, are demonic creatures from the fiery depths of the underworld. They cause thousands of dollars worth of damage to people's vehicles. Avoiding them and hitting them causes people to wreck or lose control of their vehicles. They screw with the alignment of my truck. They cost the city loads of money to repair. They have even caused major trauma to my (and I'm sure many other moms') lactating tatas. All in all, they're awful. Due to these facts, I have come to the conclusion that a**holes aren't the problem. It's potholes.
The bonus about switching up my daily (yes, I curse daily) vocabulary? It's the simple fact that I am much less likely to be chastised when my daughter calls someone a pothole. Let's just hope she isn't already waiting to bust out with a**hole...
Til next time...
The entire premise of calling someone an a**hole is due to the fact that they have been rude, disrespectful, hurtful, or *insert negatively charged adjective here.* Well, my line of thinking is that this doesn't really fit with what the true definition is of what an a**hole actually is. I mean, an a**hole isn't so bad, is it? It actually aids in ridding the body of toxins and waste. Maybe it's not the most attractive piece of my anatomy, but there's no reason to hate on it by using it to reference rude, mean and disrespectful people. The a**hole isn't vile or unforgiving or disrespectful or damaging or hurtful.
Potholes, on the other hand, are demonic creatures from the fiery depths of the underworld. They cause thousands of dollars worth of damage to people's vehicles. Avoiding them and hitting them causes people to wreck or lose control of their vehicles. They screw with the alignment of my truck. They cost the city loads of money to repair. They have even caused major trauma to my (and I'm sure many other moms') lactating tatas. All in all, they're awful. Due to these facts, I have come to the conclusion that a**holes aren't the problem. It's potholes.
The bonus about switching up my daily (yes, I curse daily) vocabulary? It's the simple fact that I am much less likely to be chastised when my daughter calls someone a pothole. Let's just hope she isn't already waiting to bust out with a**hole...
Til next time...
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
The Struggle For Inner [Pink]
Recently, I read an interview in Parents magazine with the author of Cinderella Ate My Daughter, Peggy Orenstein. The article pissed me off and made me want to burn my copy of the magazine, but unfortunately, it also has some great vacation ideas...So, rather, I decided to venture over to Amazon.com and see what the hype is all about with this book.
From what I can guage, Ms. Orenstein has started a war with Disney and anything "princess." She has begun (or maybe just further exaggerated) the anti-princess movement. One of the chapters in this book is entitled: The Other Disney Princesses: From Wholesome to Whoresome. What kind of judgment is THAT?! I already didn't like this woman, and now she made me want to burn her book and Parents magazine. I mean, how can someone say that princesses are ruining are kids and then go and say something like that? Does Ms. Orenstein know these young women? Honestly! I don't know, but if it's me, and I'm going to put myself out there for the world to see and make a really bold statement such as suggesting that Cinderella is eating my daughter, I certainly wouldn't follow it up by calling anybody a whore. I'm pretty sure that's not going to help my credibility, you know?
Well anyway, this woman, coupled with the backlash that has come from Walmart announcing its new line of cosmetics for "tweens" (which is just filling a hole since MaryKate & Ashley Olsen's line went kaput) got me thinking about how these things fit into my own life as both a young girl and now, as a mom.
My mom used to call me a princess all the time, especially in my teen years, which I totally resented. In fact, I still hate it. I hated it because it was her way of telling me that I was being a spoiled rotten brat, but it was more socially acceptable...I guess. Even in my early 20s, she would still bust it out whenever she felt I was being high maintenance or when I didn't know how to do wife-ish things. "You're such a princess," she would say. So for me, the whole idea of little girls being called "princess" has a negative connotation. In fact, I really hadn't thought about this until recently, but when my first daughter received any clothing that had "princess" on it, I subconsciously ignored it and never put it on her. I'm beginning to understand why now...
So, I had always been a "girly girl" growing up. I loved to play with make-up, loved dresses and Barbies and anything with ruffles. I loved ballet class, shopping, and one of my favorite things to do at my Grandma's house was to put on her costume jewelry and lipstick.
I didn't have any kind of interest in trains, despite the fact that I remember my uncle having a model train in his basement. I had no interest in cars, though my dad was a mechanic and even owned his own shop. When I played over at my (boy) cousin's house, we sometimes played with Lincoln Logs or blocks, but that was the extent of my interest in anything "boyish." I hated fishing, I couldn't stand being dirty...are we getting the idea yet? I grew up on a street that had about 50 boys and 3 girls: my sister, my friend Kristin, and me. The boys would want to play sports, whether it be baseball, basketball, football or wrestling; I always wanted to be the cheerleader. I started dance lessons at age 7, and I continued dancing all through high school.
The funny thing is that at some point during high school, I started a war with myself. I'm fairly certain now, looking back, that I started this war as a rebellion against the "princess" that people saw in me. I think that even some of my friends were annoyed at my femininity...I felt like I was disappointing my dad because I had no interest in the only ways he knew how to bond with me: fishing, hunting & cars. This, coupled with my mom's use of "princess" in daily conversation, really flipped my switch. I began a movement. I forced myself to learn how to change the oil in my car, I went on a couple fishing trips with my dad, and I even stopped wearing skirts and anything pink. I wanted to prove to everyone (more than myself, really) that I was more than a tiara. It was exhausting. It wasn't fun. And frankly, it just wasn't me.
My senior year, I finally gave in to myself. I realized that I really just didn't care what anyone thought of me. I LOVE pink. I LOVE shopping. I LOVE putting on make-up. And damnit, I LOVE a great pair of stilletos and a little black dress. And I'll be damned if someone's going to make me feel guilty about it. My love of all things girly has nothing to do with marketing. It has nothing to do with all the fairy tales I read and watched growing up. It doesn't even coming from my mother's influence, since she didn't teach me anything about make-up, hair or fashion. I learned that all on my own and from some of my friends on my dance teams. It comes from my heart, and I'm good with that.
The problem I have with Ms. Orenstein is that she doesn't realize (or maybe she does) that having a love of pink, frilly stuff and princesses doesn't make her daughter (or anyone else's) less of a person. It doesn't make her promiscuous or materialistic. It makes her who she is. I think people like Orenstein have this narrow-minded view that says if a girl likes pink and shoes and make-up and fashion that she's destined for a life of materialism and stupidity. Feminine isn't synonomous with stupid or promiscuous. And princess isn't synonomous with entitlement, materialistim, and superiority either.
I'm really glad that I learned these things. I'm really glad that I could look within myself and realize that I don't have to feel bad because I love the things that I do. I can love shopping and pink. I can love make-up as a way of artistic expression, not just "sexualization." And so can my daughters. I'll teach them what it means to be a true princess, one who's humble and loving, compassionate and giving, and who's beautiful both inside and out.
From what I can guage, Ms. Orenstein has started a war with Disney and anything "princess." She has begun (or maybe just further exaggerated) the anti-princess movement. One of the chapters in this book is entitled: The Other Disney Princesses: From Wholesome to Whoresome. What kind of judgment is THAT?! I already didn't like this woman, and now she made me want to burn her book and Parents magazine. I mean, how can someone say that princesses are ruining are kids and then go and say something like that? Does Ms. Orenstein know these young women? Honestly! I don't know, but if it's me, and I'm going to put myself out there for the world to see and make a really bold statement such as suggesting that Cinderella is eating my daughter, I certainly wouldn't follow it up by calling anybody a whore. I'm pretty sure that's not going to help my credibility, you know?
Well anyway, this woman, coupled with the backlash that has come from Walmart announcing its new line of cosmetics for "tweens" (which is just filling a hole since MaryKate & Ashley Olsen's line went kaput) got me thinking about how these things fit into my own life as both a young girl and now, as a mom.
My mom used to call me a princess all the time, especially in my teen years, which I totally resented. In fact, I still hate it. I hated it because it was her way of telling me that I was being a spoiled rotten brat, but it was more socially acceptable...I guess. Even in my early 20s, she would still bust it out whenever she felt I was being high maintenance or when I didn't know how to do wife-ish things. "You're such a princess," she would say. So for me, the whole idea of little girls being called "princess" has a negative connotation. In fact, I really hadn't thought about this until recently, but when my first daughter received any clothing that had "princess" on it, I subconsciously ignored it and never put it on her. I'm beginning to understand why now...
So, I had always been a "girly girl" growing up. I loved to play with make-up, loved dresses and Barbies and anything with ruffles. I loved ballet class, shopping, and one of my favorite things to do at my Grandma's house was to put on her costume jewelry and lipstick.
The funny thing is that at some point during high school, I started a war with myself. I'm fairly certain now, looking back, that I started this war as a rebellion against the "princess" that people saw in me. I think that even some of my friends were annoyed at my femininity...I felt like I was disappointing my dad because I had no interest in the only ways he knew how to bond with me: fishing, hunting & cars. This, coupled with my mom's use of "princess" in daily conversation, really flipped my switch. I began a movement. I forced myself to learn how to change the oil in my car, I went on a couple fishing trips with my dad, and I even stopped wearing skirts and anything pink. I wanted to prove to everyone (more than myself, really) that I was more than a tiara. It was exhausting. It wasn't fun. And frankly, it just wasn't me.
My senior year, I finally gave in to myself. I realized that I really just didn't care what anyone thought of me. I LOVE pink. I LOVE shopping. I LOVE putting on make-up. And damnit, I LOVE a great pair of stilletos and a little black dress. And I'll be damned if someone's going to make me feel guilty about it. My love of all things girly has nothing to do with marketing. It has nothing to do with all the fairy tales I read and watched growing up. It doesn't even coming from my mother's influence, since she didn't teach me anything about make-up, hair or fashion. I learned that all on my own and from some of my friends on my dance teams. It comes from my heart, and I'm good with that.
The problem I have with Ms. Orenstein is that she doesn't realize (or maybe she does) that having a love of pink, frilly stuff and princesses doesn't make her daughter (or anyone else's) less of a person. It doesn't make her promiscuous or materialistic. It makes her who she is. I think people like Orenstein have this narrow-minded view that says if a girl likes pink and shoes and make-up and fashion that she's destined for a life of materialism and stupidity. Feminine isn't synonomous with stupid or promiscuous. And princess isn't synonomous with entitlement, materialistim, and superiority either.
I'm really glad that I learned these things. I'm really glad that I could look within myself and realize that I don't have to feel bad because I love the things that I do. I can love shopping and pink. I can love make-up as a way of artistic expression, not just "sexualization." And so can my daughters. I'll teach them what it means to be a true princess, one who's humble and loving, compassionate and giving, and who's beautiful both inside and out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)