"Suzi and 'The Beast'"

By: Sharon MacDonell

Once upon a time I was secure in the knowledge that my little home had dodged that bullet of modern childhood—you know, the Disney Princess Collection.

I was never a big fan of Disney cartoons. As a kid I preferred the wicked antics of Bugs Bunny to the cheery banality of Mickey and friends. And the princesses were so boringly two-dimensional. Their only goal in life was to get a man. As the child of ever-bickering parents, I was quite certain that getting married didn’t insure everyone would live happily ever after.

So imagine my excitement when my first daughter Patti blanched at every Disney offering. Cinderella? “Why are those step-sisters so mean, Mommy?” Snow White? “That lady’s too scary, Mommy. Turn it off!” For Patti, watching damsels in distress was far too distressing. She turned to the Wiggles and Elmo for gentler entertainment.

I happily put away the princess videos she’d been given as gifts and hand-me-downs and forgot them. But a princess-free house was not to be. While those marketing geniuses at Disney failed with daughter number one, they proved surprisingly effective when it came to her little sister, Suzi.

Strangely enough, the source of her princess obsession was her pull-ups. Yes, a certain brand plasters Mulan, Cinderella, Belle and Ariel on the front of its pull-ups, with their sidekicks bringing up the rear.

Suzi wore the princess pull-ups for months without noticing them. Then one day she took a videotape out of a drawer and asked, “What’s this, Mommy?”

I popped the Cinderella tape into an old VCR, ready to eject it upon Suzi’s first glimpse of the wicked stepmother. But to my surprise, Suzi was enchanted by the movie and with the idea of being a beautiful princess.

Uh oh!

Her interest in princesses was fleeting, though, until she asked about the other unnamed princesses flanking Cinderella on her pull-up. “Who are they, Mommy?” I didn’t know so big sister Patti led Suzi to the other videotapes in our cobwebby Disney Vault. Our home hasn’t been the same since.

Suzi learned the names of the characters on her pull-up by viewing our few princess tapes and the dozens of promos for other princess videos therein. Then she memorized their songs and movements. Now it’s a full-blown obsession.

When we walk into our garage, Suzi yells in heartbreaking tones, “Papa, are you there?” enjoying the reverb that sounds just like Belle calling to her father in Beauty and the Beast. Suzi dives under the water in the tub and splashes her fins with enthusiasm, just like Ariel in The Little Mermaid. I’m wondering if, for drama’s sake, I might convince Suzi to do the dishes and laundry, just like Cinderella! Eh, probably not.

Now when Suzi declares, “I want to be a beautiful princess!” even my husband knows not to stop her princess metamorphosis before she’s completely attired in poofy dress, tights, heels and tiara. If we fail to please, we witness a wrath worthy of the The Little Mermaid’s evil Sea Witch (shudder!).

The pull-ups are a cleverly self-perpetuating product. When sitting mesmerized by the 90-minute princess cartoons, Suzi doesn’t notice whether she’s going number 1 or 2 in her princess pull-ups, guaranteeing her continued need of said pull-ups.

Still, a smart mom quickly learns if you can’t beat ‘em you have to join ‘em. So I’ve got a new tool to take us to the next step of potty training—a package of tiny princess underpanties! Now if I can just drag her away from the TV long enough to get them on.

I don’t know how I’ll break her fascination with princesses, though. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Just because she likes princesses doesn’t mean she’ll believe a man can make a woman happy just by marrying her. Seeing her father sit on the couch every weekend while I do all the work should dispel that myth.

As for ending the perpetual princess movie marathon, I can only hope lightning hits the house and takes out our four VCRs and three DVD players in one lovely crack of electricity.

A mom can dream of living happily ever after, too.

Sharon MacDonell lives in Troy, Michigan and has published essays in Strut, Christian Science Monitor and MetroParent.