In all likelihood, I’ll be up early Friday, watching the royal wedding with my daughter from my East Coast U.S. residence. That’s largely because my daughter’s manners, after 30 weeks of residence in my uterus, are still somewhat unpolished. She hasn’t been born yet, and the odds are that she’ll have kicked me awake well in time for the sounding of the bells at Westminster Abbey. In the event that I had an already-born daughter, however, I’d strongly prefer that she sleep in this Friday morning.
Purim is just around the corner and, in my house, that means my children have been super-glued into their costumes for about three weeks. My 6-year-old son, a dinosaur fan, has been wearing his T-Rex hat and roaring at the baby non-stop. My 3-year-old daughter has been wearing her poofy, pink princess dress and tiara, alternately calling herself Cinderella or Queen Esther. My daughter in a princess dress is not all that unusual. She has a few “savta bought” (obviously) tutus she loves to twirl around in, but having just read Peggy Orenstein’s “Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatches from the Front Lines of the New Girlie-Girl Culture,” both the Cinderella talk and the Queen Esther talk are giving me pause.