the suspense is killing me
1. The Greek goddess Iris. The allure of this choice is obvious, with the additional benefit that I made a costume way back in March for her birthday party. She wore it all of about 10 minutes that day, so maybe it will actually get some mileage now. Yes, it is a little light for 50 degree evenings, but I'm sure it is absolutely authentic to wear a turtleneck and tights underneath to keep warm.
2. A princess, wearing one of the gowns from the royal dress-up trunk that a well-intentioned family friend gifted her, and which I hate with a passion. More on that momentarily. The dresses have been worn so often for dress-up play that they have a somewhat tattered, Cinderella-before-the-ball aspect to them.
3. Madeline. In an effort to distract her from the whole princess schtick, I have been pushing fictional females with more spunk and, well, literary merit. Iris is pretty into the Madeline costume idea. The only problem is that inspiration struck only a couple days ago, followed by a sinking feeling, which proved to be correct, that I had given away the French blue corduroy coat that would have been perfect to cannibalize for a Madeline costume. So, this is on its way, and we'll see if it arrives in time.
Thus does my aversion to fairy tale princesses trump my commitment to homemade Halloween costumes. Where, exactly, is the line between gentle parental guidance and out-and-out control-freakishness?
As a feminist from the Free To Be You and Me generation, I think I need some serious counseling on how to deal with a daughter who's fallen for the whole Disnified princess scenario hook, line, and glass slipper. Maybe it would be easier if I had had the princess bug myself as a child, but I never did, so I can't relate. For now, I cope by imposing arbitrary rules on when and where the accursed princess gowns may be worn (because if I didn't, she would wear them all the time, everywhere), resisting pleas to watch the Disney princess movies at home (not just because, well, over my dead body, but because I actually fear parts of them will be too scary at her age), and casting a revisionist spin on the stories we read ("You know why I think the prince fell in love with Cinderella? Because she was such a good person! She was so nice to everyone, even though her stepmother and stepsisters were mean to her.") I think I am probably (definitely) making way too big a deal out of the whole thing, but I am surprised by the strength of my feelings about this.
Oh, and one more coping tactic: read this. Pure genius.