Dear Mr. Disney CEO,
I want to be a Disney Princess someday but my friends tell me I can’t because I am a black, Jewish, lesbian with a speech impediment and links to al Quaeda. Is this true?
Lanelle in Larchmont
Dear Lanelle,
Although it is true that to date there is not yet an African American, a Judaic American, or a differently- abled, alternately sexually-preferenced, Terrorist-harboring American currently among the Disney Princesses, the process of creating and vetting new potential princesses is much more complicated than one might at first suspect, and one that is, in fact, going on all the time. Continue reading So You Want to Be a Disney Princess→
For many of us, the bi-annual change of seasons is like Mother Nature’s reproving reminder to clean our room, already. Around here, we’re reorganizing everything for the End of Warm and the Beginning of Cold: tank tops go away, sweaters come out; bug spray goes away, boot rack comes out; school nurse’s hand-out-about-tick-removal-and-Lyme-Disease-on-the-refrigerator comes down, school nurse’s handout-about-flu-symptoms-and-hand-washing goes up.
What I'm Bringing!
In the midst of all this transition, it usually seems to me like a good time to take stock and get rid of stuff I don’t need. If you know me, then you know that I’m a well-established pack rat, and Stuff-I-Don’t-Need is my middle name. After visiting the houses of some of my relatives I can confirm with confidence that I come by this genetically. In fact, it is only through sheer force of will and the specter of an imaginary Martha Stewart tsk-ing over my shoulder, that I manage to have a home that does not resemble that of the infamous brothers who made tunnels through the piles of newspapers in their house until the day a landslide killed one of them.
(These are the things I think about when I’m perusing my large and extensive collection of rah-rah clutter-busting books with chapter titles like “Simplify your Spice Cabinet!” and “Magazines Aren’t for Keeping, you Know!” and “You Know You’ll Never Learn to Quilt So Get Over it Already!”) Continue reading Our Communal Closet→
I am nuts. Totally certifiable. I know this because every year around this time every adult person I know- my husband, my mother, my friends- tells me so.
You see, I’m making my children’s Halloween costumes.
Little Bo Peep in Progress
I know. I know! I know that we can buy entire ensembles complete with magic wands, flashing light sabers and realistically blood-drenched machetes at Wal-Mart for less than the price of a pack of gum. I know that it would be better for my child’s imagination to make a costume herself out of empty Cheerios boxes and tin foil.
It doesn’t matter. I’ve begun to realize this is something beyond comprehension that I am simply going to have to accept. And thus every fall, like swallows returning to Capistrano, I find myself wandering the aisles of Jo-Ann Fabrics, trying to figure out where the ¼ inch elastic might be.
Oh, and I should mention that I don’t sew. Did I mention that? Or rather, I didn’t sew, way, way back in the Mesozoic Pre-Children Era, and for most intents and purposes I still don’t. I am completely self-taught on a steady, if infrequent diet of girl’s Halloween costumes, which is to say that, over the years, I’ve managed to make a velveteen ladybug antennae cap, a black felt nun’s habit, a Madeline cape and a satin off-the-shoulder princess gown, but I am completely incapable of hemming my daughter’s pants. Continue reading What Halloween Means to Me→
E.O. Schaub
Eve O. Schaub 