{"id":3823,"date":"2005-05-19T00:00:00","date_gmt":"1970-01-01T00:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/lesliedinaberg.com\/wordpress\/?p=3823"},"modified":"2017-06-14T20:09:08","modified_gmt":"2017-06-15T03:09:08","slug":"rediscovering-my-princess-pride","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lesliedinaberg.com\/wordpress\/?p=3823","title":{"rendered":"Rediscovering my princess pride"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"The

The New Girl, by JD Hancock, courtesy Flickr.com.<\/p><\/div>\n

Boy, oh boy, it’s great to have a girls day<\/strong><\/h4>\n

I have to admit, I was looking forward to doing something girly for a change. It’s not that I don’t love being a “boy mom<\/a>,” but there’s a distinct void of sparkly shoes, turreted castles and pretend weddings in my life, and quite frankly, I miss it. I enjoy being a girl.<\/p>\n

I get “pouffy party dress envy” at Easter time, when my nieces flounce around in their fancy fashions, while my son stuffs his face and dirties his khakis with chocolate. And don’t even get me started on those Nutcracker performances at Christmas.<\/p>\n

So when my sister asked me to stand in for her at a Washington School Mommy & Me tea party last weekend, I jumped at the chance to embrace all that is pink, delicate and flowery, and play “girl mom” for a day. I am girl, hear me giggle.<\/p>\n

I had my first clue that I was entering an alternate universe when we got in the car.<\/p>\n

“Your chariot awaits,” I announced, trying to get into the spirit of princess culture.<\/p>\n

“Roll up the windows,” commanded six-year-old Princess Lauren, as I strapped her into the back seat. “I don’t want to mess up my hair.”<\/p>\n

“It’s 80 degrees outside,” I said.<\/p>\n

“But we’re going to get our picture taken. Doesn’t your air conditioning work?” she said impatiently.<\/p>\n

“Not really, your highness. But the hairbrush in my purse does.”<\/p>\n

Crisis averted. But I was definitely out of my league. Many of the women at the party were wearing heels, hose and hats. Haven’t they read that pantyhose can give you brain tumors? It’s in print. Right here. At least it wasn’t the 70s, when my mom would dress us in matching outfits. I tried that once with my son. Another dollar in the therapy jar.<\/p>\n

Lauren fluffed her hair and checked my lipstick before we posed for our souvenir photo (next to an artfully arranged tea set). At this point, I looked around for the unicorn to escort us down a trail of fairy dust. Instead, one of our hostesses, Eileen Ochsner, offered us the chance to buy raffle tickets.<\/p>\n

“It wouldn’t be Washington if we didn’t try to gouge you one more time,” she joked, as I forked over the last of my cash. Lauren drooled over the girly girl treasures we had just bought the chance to win.<\/p>\n

When we got to the backyard (unicornless, unfortunately) Lauren disappeared faster than Cinderella’s coach at midnight. I found her in the crafts area, buried in a sea of pink frosting. The girls were surprisingly well behaved, passing the sprinkles and gems back and forth. I had a brief flashback to my son’s boisterous Halloween cookie decorating (“Pass the pumpkin. Thwomp! … To my hand, not my hair…”).<\/p>\n

Very impressive! I wondered if these girls had enrolled in the World of Disney princess class I had read about where Cinderella’s beautiful friend, Lady Seraphina, educates starry-eyed pupils in the four Princess Principles — intelligence, grace, thoughtfulness and honesty. I think Sneezy, Grumpy, Bashful and Dopey were busy that day.<\/p>\n

Feeling like a bad feminist, I whispered to one of my cohorts: “I totally get the princess thing. Look how cute they are.”<\/p>\n

And they were, absolutely precious. I could almost see invisible tiaras on their freshly curled hair. They were precious in a way that little boys, well … little boys just aren’t. I adore my son and it’s hard enough to keep him clean, so please don’t ever let on that I actually find him cuter when he’s covered in dirt and grass stains than when he gets dressed up.<\/p>\n

I coo a little over the ladybug bracelet Lauren just made, as one of the teachers comes up to admire her dress and tell her how pretty she looks.<\/p>\n

She beams.<\/p>\n

She is pretty, and enjoys being so, which makes me feel both proud and protective over her, as I remember what teenage boys — and preteen girls — can be like. Right now her dressing up is sweet and it’s innocent and it’s a long way from Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, but still, a part of me wants to shout, “and she’s good at math and science too.”<\/p>\n

What am I so worried about, I wonder? Lauren is hardly prissy, and she knows she’s smart, as well as pretty. “Princess power,” she jokes with her friends, as they connect the bracelets they just made.<\/p>\n

I say a silent prayer that she’ll hold on to her confidence. Studies say that girls’ self esteem peaks at age 9. Another found that 46 percent of high school boys and only 29 percent of high school girls reported being “happy the way I am,” which makes me feel both happy and a little guilty to be happy that I’m a “boy mom.”<\/p>\n

“Stay happy little girls,” I want to tell them. You can be anything that you want to be. Hold on to those invisible tiaras.<\/p>\n

Lauren and I clink our teacups — with pinky’s out — and say, “cheers to princess power.” Here’s hoping it lasts.<\/p>\n

Originally published in\u00a0South Coast Beacon<\/a>\u00a0on May 19, 2005.<\/h6>\n

Share this:<\/h3>