I have returned from a work trip and need to make things right with the 3-year-old princess in my house.
My daughter Leah has always loved to hear stories while snuggling with a parent. And, as do most preschool girls I know, she has a fascination with tiaras, dainty slippers, ball gowns and happily-ever-afters.
Where she got it, I do not know. But when your child is 3, imaginative and imperious, you go with what works. So I cuddle up close and begin the story of Rapunzel -- she of the hair long enough for a prince to climb.
Princess stories are comforting because they always end the same way. The fair maiden marries the prince, and they live together in bliss. No divorce. No squabbling over who does the dishes or who's going to stay home when a little one spikes a fever.
So even though I'm not in love with the unrealistic, limiting vision for women that these stories promote, I hew to the story line.
Beautiful Rapunzel is locked in a stairless tower by a witch who stole her as a girl. Her gorgeous singing attracts a prince passing through the forest. He begins a series of visits to Rapunzel by climbing her hair.
One day, of course, the prince asks Rapunzel to marry him.
"And what did she say?" I ask my daughter.
To my surprise, Leah frowns and deliberates.
"She said ... no."
No? Why did she say no?
More deliberation.
"She was working."
I stifle my laughter and ponder my thoughts. I'm proud, right? My girl has written a new ending for the princess and, by extension, for herself. Even in a tower far from civilization, there's more to life than being swept away by some prince.
But I'm guilty, too. What's the message here? Have I, the mom who sometimes drops the work and family balls she tries to juggle, been issued an indictment? From this age of pure possibility, does my daughter see her choices narrowing, that saying yes to a career might mean saying no to commitments of love?
Then I remember: A casualty of being one of those moms who tries to do it all is that sometimes we just think too much.
So I ask another question: What happened next?
My daughter gives the best answer I can think of. I hope, some day and on some level, it will be the answer for her.
"They worked together."
......................
kate.shatzkin@baltsun.com
