Mommy Ever After » Disney

Milking it.

Rebecca Fox Starr — Sun, 25 Jan 2015 14:40:20 +0000

My daughter is quite the crafty one. She is smart and creative. She can use her precociousness and persuasiveness simultaneously and deliberately, so this girl rarely hears “no” from people other than her primary caregivers and authority figures (really, just her parents and teachers).

Which means that I had to get really clever, myself.

My daughter, the method actress, is enamored with Into the Woods.

We act out scenes from the musical every day, rotating parts; We watch clips from the movie and the staged version on Youtube and the XBox1; We sing every song.

So I know that she is completely obsessed

and with knowledge comes power.

You see, I have this insight because I am also a crazy musical theatre fan, and throughout my life, since I was two years old, I have been Dorothy, and Eponine, and Maureen and Amneris and Catherine and oh so many more characters that have gotten under my skin in a way that is impossible to describe to anyone who doesn’t know the feeling. It’s just one of those things.

This morning, I woke up at 10 after 7, when the baby let out his first cry of the day.

I got up slowly, bundled up in a hooded sweatshirt and when I opened my bedroom door and walked into the hallway I was greeted by a small girl with a large blanket, a makeshift cape around her shoulders and a hood on her head, skipping around.

“Oh, hell0,” said the girl. “I’m just on my way to my grandmother’s house but I seem to keep finding a wolf who actually looks like a man and he has candy.”

(At least she finally wised up and chose a better part than the “Baker Baby”.)

“And then, as I was getting a bouquet for granny, I heard Jack in the distance!” she continued.

So, we walked together into the baby’s room, and when we saw us, he flung himself down, theatrically, onto his back, so that he was sprawled out, crying in his crib. This is presumably because:

1. His daddy has been sick since Thursday (more on that, later), and my son misses him as he has been out of commission

and

2. I have two incredibly dramatic children.

Truth be told, I am tired. It is hard taking care of two children alone, all day, for many days in a row (mad props to all of the people who do this every day; I am in awe of single parents, parents and caregivers whose partners work long hours and anyone else who is tasked with this job regularly).

When we finally got the baby up and changed, the three of us headed downstairs for breakfast. As I was preparing the baby’s milk, the kids’ meals and trying to take care of the dog, I asked my daughter if she could bring Lola’s bowl over to me.

“Okay,” she started, “But let’s pretend that you didn’t really ask me to get Milky White his food but you just turned around and I was there with the bowl for Milky White’s food, like I thought of it on my own, and then you can say ‘Thank you, Little Red’. Can we do that?”

All the world’s a stage.

“Sure.”

So instead of having to run around like a chicken with my head

(or a maiden in a tower with her hair)

cut off, I was able to use a little creativity and the magic of musical theatre–something that has been so important to me in my life–something that I now see being so important to my daughter–to actually make life a little bit easier.

Little Red was happy to show The Wolf into the other part of the Woods, The Baker’s Wife was uncharacteristically allowed to leave the room for a second (because, spoiler alert: The Baker’s Wife does end up leaving) and Little Red was happy to let the dog in and out of the house (although it took Lola a bit longer to realize that she was supposed to come when she was being called “Milky White”).

All of this sounds great, and it was great, but I will admit one thing: While I figured out a way to occupy my daughter, who, in turn, entertained my son, I was spending time using a microplane to grate fresh carrot over Lola’s food.

One step at a time, I say.

(And, you know, it is very hard to take steps when there is pitch on the stairs.)

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On Motherhood

mommyeverafter — Tue, 11 Mar 2014 23:49:15 +0000

By today’s standards, I waited a good while before having my second child. I get the whole “two under two” and “done with diapers” things, they just weren’t my bag. Instead, my kids are three and a half years apart to the week. In hindsight I am so glad that I did wait; (for so many reasons, not the least of which being my current journey.)
This past week my family went away. I was with my husband, my parents, my daughter who is a month shy of four years old and my four month old. This trip got me thinking a lot; a lot about where I’ve been most acutely and recently, and also in my “career” as a mom.
When I was getting ready for my second child, I did not anticipate how utterly, astoundingly and completely different everything would be (from penis to postpartum.)
But I am different now. So much has changed in the world and in my life and in me.
For instance, in shopping in the hotel sundry store for a rash guard for my daughter, I did a few things that I never would have done 3 and a half years ago: First, I bought the shirt in navy blue. Then, I joked with the woman behind the counter about my stretch marks. And then I voluntarily shared with her that I am no longer nursing my son. (I am still the queen of TMI, some things just don’t change, evidently.)
Later that day, my son had a poopy diaper at the pool. The family bathroom was occupied (seemingly indefinitely) so I braved the regular ladies room and changed him right there on the floor. A far cry from how I used to agonize about taking the baby anywhere, let alone changing him.
When people ask me how old my son is, I say “four months”. Really, he is four and a half. With my first child I would have said something like, “Oh he’s a day shy of 18.5 weeks” (and I am totally making up that number of weeks as I have no idea how many weeks my son has been here.)
And I really got to thinking about this on the plane ride home. By the way, I still don’t like to fly. Why couldn’t that have miraculously changed?! Come on, man!
And I thought about the Flight Attendant’s instructions. In case of a decrease in cabin pressure, you are to put on your own mask before assisting anyone else. Including the person next to you. Including your child.
This goes against every inherent instinct we have and also against the grain of what we are taught as mothers; we are taught that sacrifice=love.
But now I am beginning to realize, slowly, the healthier mom actually=healthier baby. That is why I gave up nursing my son at 10 weeks, despite my desperation to remain a “breastfeeding mother”.
I was just putting on my own oxygen mask.
And because I was able to breathe, to suck air into my lungs without passing out, I have been better equipped to take care of my children than I would have otherwise.
During our flight’s landing I was able to ease my son’s ear pressure by sticking my finger in his mouth and letting him suck. My hands were clean, but still…Never would I have dared to touch my baby’s mouth with my finger three and a half years ago. But I didn’t have my boob to go-t0 and the finger did the job and he was happy and did not make a peep the entire flight. And it soothed him. Which soothed me.
So sometimes sacrifice just equals sacrifice.
But love always equals love.

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A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

mommyeverafter — Thu, 17 Jun 2010 02:33:51 +0000

My daughter is named after my favorite Disney Princess.
While that may not be the exact reason for the origin of her name, it is also not just a happy coincidence.
And it certainly is fun picking out princess paraphernalia for her, which I hope she will treasure as she gets older.
In fact, once upon a time and over a decade ago, I chose this name for her, hoping that I would have a daughter to bestow it upon. I have been collecting art pieces and souvenirs with her name from all across the world ever since.
I can’t help but daydream about the time, maybe a couple of years down the road, when she will play princesses with me. And watch the Disney movie of her namesake, while snuggled up next to me, as we sing along to some of the favorite songs of my youth.
But, for now, I sing these songs to her. And she smiles. And it is my happily ever after.

Oh, and you’re right. You guessed it. It’s Pocahontas.

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