Speaking of Aladdin...

...the university hosted an Aladdin festival for families this weekend. Actually, the brilliant move was to call it an Aladdin festival rather than a Middle Eastern culture festival. Families were there by the hundreds, and they really had put an enormous amount of time into planning a kid-oriented, educational, entertaining event. Almost every organization in town connected in any way to Arabia hosted a booth--and unlike most such festivals, none of them were selling anything.

I thought Edith might be disappointed when she arrived to discover there was no sign of Jasmine or anything Disney. But she did fine. First we greeted the camel outside. "The camel is surprised that a princess is saying hi to him," announced Edith, in her third-person, narrate-her-own-life mode. Then we went inside. We watched an ancient Ottoman shadow puppet show for awhile. We made a model banyan tree. We tried almond flour pastries. We watched the magic carpet demonstration by engineering students and the alchemy demonstration by a chemistry professor. Edith made herself some ears like a saluki, the fastest dog on earth. And she won her own Arabian steed for her successful goal in polo. We watched an ancient water clock operate (this version made with Legos), and she made an anklet with bells on it for dancing. We went to a show about falconry with a local raptor preservation trust and met a falcon named Georgette who was born on the George Washington Bridge.

But despite all the noise and confusion, Edith's favorite part was when we borrowed a copy of an Aladdin storybook and read the original version of the story. She didn't flinch when Princess Badr al-Budur (not Jasmine) made an appearance only toward the very end. And she was very interested in the genies. After the first reading, which we did with Harry and his family, Edith and Harry answered a question about the story and then received magic rings that they can rub to speak with a genie. Then Edith asked me to read the story of Aladdin three more times. Guess she had finally found the heart of the festival--from her perspective, at least.

Enter the saluki (or as Edith preferred, Lady the cocker spaniel)

Edith tried her hand at polo

But she couldn't quite manage the horse and the mallet at the same time

So she just rode off the field with the horse

Trying to show off the bells on her ankle, the ring on her finger, and her Arabian horse all at once

Afterwards we walked across campus to meet Daddy, and Edith checked out the local fauna. I asked if she were scared and after checking she told me, "No, because those are just statue teeth."

Part of her world

If you want to get Edith to do something these days, your best bet is to think like a princess.

Clothes need putting on?

"Cinderella, let me help you with your ballgown."

Only ten minutes to walk to school? (I know, it's just one block. But Edith is a highly distractible, intractable walker.) Unless...

"Let's swim to the sunken pirate ship, Little Mermaid!"

Want to maintain her interest in the kite Daddy is trying to get launched?

"Hey, do you think it might bump into any magic carpets up there?"

***

Actually, to get her to the front door to head to school in the first place, all one needs to say is "Time to go see Sarah!"

Then Edith will beam, shout "Time to see Sarah!" and run for the door. And then she'll tell you, on the way down the stairs, "If Sarah is the Little Mermaid, then I have to be Snow White. But if Sarah is Snow White, I have to be the Little Mermaid."

She's right about the need to share the daycare costumes, of course, but I'm not sure why there's any doubt about the roles. Virtually every morning for the past six weeks or so, we've arrived at daycare to find Sarah dressed as Snow White, jealously saving the Little Mermaid costume from all the little boys in the class for Edith.

Sarah is something of a goddess in Edith's eyes since her vacation to Disney World. It wasn't the trip so much as the fact that the Princesses sent Sarah a postcard after her return home. Edith is convinced that Sarah and the Princesses are tight. And so we've heard our first wistful, "I wish I could go to Disney World..."

It's a little alarming sometimes to see the gendered play taking such strong hold. Yesterday morning on arrival Edith ran over to inspect Sarah's Princess sweatshirt and name all the characters on it. Meanwhile Sarah fingered Edith's string of Mardi Gras beads. It was as if they were admiring each other's prom gowns.

On the other hand, Edith reported that today at lunch she had been feeling whiny (Ms. Bela confirmed) but that "My friend Sarah cheered me up by showing me her Princess lunchbox. That was very nice of her." Who can argue with that?

***

The other night I finally asked Edith, as she inspected the details of the dress and hairstyle of each of the Princesses on her metallic Princess storybook box for the nteenth time, just what was so appealing about the Princesses.

"They have happy endings," she said immediately, and flipped to the back of the story of Snow White with a smile.

An insight into the mania?

***

Dress-up notwithstanding, the stories themselves are Edith's favorite part, so we've tried to improve the literary quality of the versions we're telling by getting some other renditions out of the public library to counteract the Disney. Edith has been happy to have us incorporate some minor details from these versions into the tale as we tell it, but she won't let us totally cut the Official Disney saccharine. So sure, Cinderella's stepsisters can chop off their toes and heels to try to get the glass slipper to fit, but meanwhile there better be two mice named Jaq and Gus sneaking a key out of the stepmother's pocket and up the stairs.

Still, even Edith is beginning to deconstruct the narrative structure of these fairy tales after 25 hearings per day. I'm impressed by her counterfactuals:

Inspecting a picture of Sleeping Beauty about to prick her finger, as the evil fairy stands with arm outstretched, the signature long skinny fingers of an evil Disney female much in evidence:

"Mommy, what if Sleeping Beauty tricked Maleficent and she pricked her finger on the spinning wheel instead? What would happen?"

And looking at Cinderella weeping in the garden after the stepsisters have torn her gown,

"What if Cinderella just went to the ball in rags? What would happen?"

Guess Edith's not totally hooked on the ballgown part after all. If daycare had a Cinderella rags costume, that would probably be cool, too.

***

It did give us a chuckle at the beach last week when Edith walked around holding shells over her belly button and announcing she was Ariel. For someone as expert on nipples as she is, it's funny she hasn't quite figured that one out.

***

A final lament about the hideous writing in Disney storybook versions of their own movies. The dwarfs "sadly grieved"? "Happily, they rejoiced"? The girl awoke, then the dwarfs were startled, then they loved the beautiful girl, soon they hid behind the bed, soon she stirred, then she saw them? And don't get me started on the dangling modifiers--they're everywhere!

Some of these movies I haven't seen in many years and can't quite reconstruct--and the storybooks fail to help. The tale of Sleeping Beauty, for example, spends half a page on the animals in the woods stealing Prince Philip's clothes and dressing up in them for fun, but it fails to mention (1) just what Maleficent's curse on Princess Aurora is, (2) why the good fairies decide to raise the princess in a cottage in the woods and why they have to give up their magic powers, (3) why she's returning to the castle on her 16th birthday, (4) why she has two different names. And then the pricked finger, deep sleep, curse on the land, conquest of Maleficent, triumph of the prince, kiss of the princess, and happily ever after resolve in two (count them, two) sentences.

But even worse is the promotion of all these female characters as the crux of the stories, divorced from context. Snow White, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty as the central figures, sure...but think for a minute about the story of Aladdin told from the perspective of a princess in the royal palace waiting for the right suitor to show up. Lamp? Genie? Nowhere to be found.

Spring break at Myrtle...

...or a few miles north at Sunset, where the family crowd hangs out.

Grandpa and Edith survey the scene on the first morning

A closer look

On the pier

The main purpose of the trip was to spend time with Cousin Kelsey, on her first trip to North Carolina. She and Edith met for the first time.

It's Cinderella in more comfortable slippers...it's a giant mutant duck...it's Edith wearing animal-track-making flip flops from Kelsey. She loved 'em.

A still unspoiled beach front? Edith saw that there was serious development work to be done.

Fearing environmental protestors, she brought her bodyguards to ensure that work continued smoothly

Back in Chapel Hill we finally sampled the local LocoPops about which we've been hearing raves from friends, a new area offering courtesy of Latino immigrants fond of paletas (de agua o de crema) after dinner. Edith's flavor: chocolate brownie. Ah, how to choose between all the flavors, whose names brought me back to days in the Dominican Republic? Tamarind pear, mojito, chocolate pineapple, basil grapefruit...

In the spirit of vacation, Kelsey and Edith then went on to make sugar cookies, with a decorating kit Kelsey had brought. (She sure inherited her mother's instincts for how to spoil little nieces/cousins!)

Lyricist

Someone has to pay the bills. When Edith isn't working on her high poetic art, she is composing ditties with greater popular appeal--usually set to well-known tunes. So far we think they're all in the public domain. Some recent samples follow.

1. Debuted at 2:30pm on a Sunday afternoon, as we were finishing up the day's church obligations with a visit to a new baby and his parents:

(To the tune of "London Bridge")

Let's go be a family,
Family, family,
Let's go be a family,
Then sleep over!

(That last line was presumably inspired by her recent "sleepover" with friend Desi. She was actually removed from Desi's bed and carried home to her own at 11pm, once we parents got back from dinner out together, but she got in all the fun parts of the sleepover while conscious and had a grand time.)

That verse was followed by the seemingly unrelated

Take the car and gas it up,
Gas it up, gas it up,
Take the car and gas it up,
My fair lady!

Maybe it's intended for separate release.

2. Written this morning as she was trying to wheedle her way back into bed to snuggle with me, rather than be whisked off to school by Daddy:

(To the tune of "Bicycle Built for Two")

Mom-my's bel-ly
Button is beautiful...

I didn't get to hear the rest, because at that point she was, in fact, whisked away. But I'd buy it based on that clip.

Miss Manners

The most beautiful sound in the English language?

The syllable sure, spoken by a two year old.

As in,

"Can you throw this in the laundry basket, please?"

"Sure!"

"No, no more mommy milk now. Would you like some refrigerator milk?"

Pause to consider. "Sure."

"Would you like to help me with the sweeping first, and then we can play?"

"Sure, Mommy, I can do that."

The impact of that little word on the adult is--in an instant--surprise, relief, and joy, as the sun seemingly shines brighter. I can feel my spine rebounding and minutes being added to my life as the load of the day's endless negotiations is unexpectedly lifted for a second.

Similarly delightful: We don't know what clicked or why, but in the last few days Edith has been full of unprompted, generous expressions of manners.

As in,

"Would you like some crackers?"

"No, thank you."

Or I bring her a sippy cup in bed.

"Thank you, Mommy. I love you."

Or I am running down the grocery list with Tom, and I ask Edith if she would like to add anything.

"Colby-Jack cheese, please. I love Colby-Jack cheese."

I say that I already have Colby-Jack cheese on the list, because I know how much she likes it.

"Thank you, Mommy. That was so nice of you to put Colby-Jack cheese on the list for me."

And when I get home from the store, it's not "I want cheese!" but "Did you find any Colby-Jack cheese, Mommy?"

There's more such growing thoughtfulness. She asked to be carried this morning, and I explained that I couldn't carry her because my knee was hurting. Once upon a time she would not have been able to hear such a response and would have pitched a fit. Instead she turned to Tom.

"Daddy, is your knee hurting? Can you carry me?" and then, "Mommy, when we get out of the car I will kiss your knee." Which she did.

I don't want to leave you with the impression that we have hit the Age of Perfect Reason and Empathy. Edith can whine with the best of them, and any small frustration with a physical object still sends her over the edge. But we're beginning to see the rough outlines of a civilized human being breaking through. Sometimes she'll make a stab at better communication even in the midst of a whine: "No, Mommy! I'm whining because I don't like Bismarck's barking! THAT'S why I'm whining!"

And the even-keeled expressions of agreement and thoughtfulness are breathtaking. Amazing how "no, thank you" cuts straight through a morning of knocking heads. You remember the big world out there in which people regularly respond to each other in a rational way. Really, it takes so little to send the preschool parent's spirits through the roof.

Coping

Edith has been absorbing a great deal of the adult conversation around here in the last week, related to our potentially making a major move. Her efforts to deal with it have been touching and sometimes heart-rending. She was so good with me and Tom most of last week, as we put off her requests for stories and talked a blue streak of logistics and weighty considerations during all waking moments we had together. She remained on her best behavior despite being ignored--sunny, patient, and seemingly at an even keel. Then something a little strange would happen that would tip us off that she was struggling to cope with all that she was hearing and only partially understanding.

One afternoon I went out to walk Bismarck, as I do many evenings. Apparently Edith stood at the window and cried the whole time we were gone. Another morning I was getting dressed after my shower and couldn't find the socks I thought I had laid out on the bed. The next day it was my bra. Just as I was concluding I had had a complete mental lapse, Edith ran into the room and announced, "Mommy, I put your bra into my crib to save it. It smells like mommy milk, so I can sleep with it when I can't have mommy milk." That's when I discovered she had a small stash of my clothes under her pillow: the bra, the socks, a shirt, a scarf. (Unfortunately, she did not have the mysteriously disappearing four-week-reserve library book...)

Tom and I figured that Edith was perhaps afraid that I was thinking about moving away by myself, not understanding that if we moved we would all go together. So one evening I told her explicitly that I was proud of how patient she had been with me and Daddy during all our talking in recent days. I explained that what we had been talking about was whether our whole family was going to move to a new home. Then I said that if we moved, we would all go together. Because we're a family, we love each other, and we'll always stay together. Edith didn't respond, but she seemed to be listening.

Last Friday Edith received a negative report from school, noting that she had been whiny and had asked for mommy much of the day, and that she had even hit Ms. Monika. So on Monday we explained to Ms. Bela what had been happening in the past week at our house and relayed our suspicion that Edith was afraid Mommy was moving away by herself. Ms. Bela asked me to repeat to her exactly the language we were using at home to try to reassure Edith, so she could use it at school, too.

When we picked Edith up at the end of the day, finding her in a marvelous mood, we heard from Ms. Bela just how thoughtful she had been in addressing Edith's anxieties. She had chosen a book about a family moving as the story for Circle Time. When Edith backed her away out of the circle and put her hands over her face--a tell-tale sign that she is scared--Ms. Bela took Edith on her lap, cuddled her, and talked to her about how her whole family would either stay here together or move together, like the family in the book. Then she had all the children talk about who is in each of their families. It's times like this that I most love and appreciate Edith's school setting.

Fortunately, it looks like she'll remain there for one more year. After all that discussion, we've opted for the 3-mile move next year, rather than the 3,000-mile move. That will probably be upheaval enough for our 3 year old.