Cinderella Takes Over My Life

It's happened: I've let my house and life be overrun by a mass-marketed, plastic, ridiculously-proportioned Disney character. I swore - swore! - that my children would not become sucked in by crap toys because I, their mother, would shield them from all such advertising and then, later, teach them to see right through all the marketing ploys and choose lovely, quality things. Please.

But somehow, even though Annie has spent the entirety of her life thinking that Sesame Street is the only show that's on during the day, she has become obsessed with Cinderella. Chalk it up to friends, the mall, Targeting trips, the many toy catalogs that arrive at our house daily . . . it snuck in. Then one day, a relative gave her the Cinderella movie and the obsession became complete. (To be fair, I think it's one of the few Disney movies that's fine for a 3-year-old to watch, because there's no scary, witchy person killing someone with fruit and/or being pushed off a cliff, etc.) Now, our kitchen table is covered with the teeny, tiny pieces and parts to the moveable Cinderella figurine Jason got her - glass slippers, crown, even a tiny bird that lands on her scrawny wrist -, Cinderella stick-on earrings, a Cinderella ring that has lip gloss inside (!), her Cinderella pen that lights up when you draw with it, her Crayola Color Wonder Princess coloring book . . . and surely there are about 20 more things downstairs covered with the blonde beauty. Remember the real, live Cinderella who made an appearance at the Princess Birthday party a few weeks ago? Don't worry - the picture Annie took with her is proudly displayed on our refrigerator. Cinderella is her hero.

A few years ago, before I had kids, this would have driven me crazy. I have had enough friends with body-image issues to get a little fired up about little girls (toddlers, really) idolizing these size-zero princesses who get saved from their squalid lives by the handsome prince who swoops in and loves them because they're beautiful. And I do still want to raise my girls to be strong, competent, smart women who measure themselves by other things than their waist size. But I've given up managing every little influence that comes their way because, really, it's impossible. Also, it's time to start letting Annie make some of her own choices about what's fun, what's interesting, and what's entertaining.

So tonight, Jemma went to bed early, and Annie and I snuggled on the couch and watched the first half of Cinderella together under a blanket. With one hand, she clutched her Cinderella doll; with the other, she held my hand. It's the longest time Annie has sat still and cuddled me in a very long time, and I guess I have - who else? - Cinderella to thank for that.