Have A Very Misogynistic Christmas

A few days ago, when I noticed the 1964 stop-motion animation television special “Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer” was on, I was thrilled.  At four-years-old, Preschooler was finally old enough to really “get” the whole Santa experience, and I knew she’d love this movie.  So with an eager heart, I turned on the TV, and got ready to create some Normon-Rockwell-esque Christmas memories with my oldest child.  And as I predicted, Rudolph worked his charm. Preschooler sat there the whole hour, mouth hanging open, totally engaged in the story of the misfit reindeer.

For all the wrong reasons.

It turns out Rudolph isn’t as sunshiny as I remember.

Not five minutes into the movie, when Rudolph is born, we find out Rudolph’s father, Donner, is kind of a dick.  When Rudolph’s nose shines, his mother (Mrs. Donner Reindeer), says “Well, we’ll just have to overlook this,” Rudolph’s dad vocally opposes such a suggestion, and insists Rudolph wear a false nose.  So, when Rudolph complains the prosthetic is uncomfortable, his dad claims “You’ll wear it and you’ll like it!” Now THAT’S parenting!

As the movie rolls along, I can accept all the other reindeer are jerks towards Rudolph, if only because the carol commands the other reindeer not allow Rudolph to join in any reindeer games.  So it comes as no surprise when Rudolph runs away from home.

Donner and Mrs. Donner are understandably distraught when they find out Rudolph’s gone.  Mrs. Donner wants to strike out in search of her lost boy, but Donner stops her stating, “No! This is MAN’S work!” and he sets off alone.  

Despite this, and In a rare moment of female empowerment, Mrs. Donner and Rudolph’s little girlfriend Clarice leave the cave to search for Rudolph.  The next we hear from them?  They’re being attacked by the Abominable Snowman. OF COURSE THEY ARE.  

So, Rudolph, Donner, and Rudolph’s new misfit friends rescue them thanks to the wanna-be dentist elf, who pulls out all the Abominable Snowman’s teeth with a large pair of pliers. This led to some interesting discussions about how the dentist is your friend, and not some sort of nightmarish tooth-pulling fiend.

Finally, with the Abominable Snowman incapacitated, the gang can head home, but not without one more disparaging quip from Donner. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get the WOMEN home.”

Fantastic.

The movie’s most redeeming feature, in my opinion?  The island of misfit toys is ruled by a giant flying gryphon.  SCORE.  Totally forgot about that one. And, most likely, any hints of misogyny totally flew over Preschooler’s head, just as, for 30 odd years or so, they flew over my head as well.

Merry Christmas.  Merry Christmas, indeed.

I Could Cook Dinner, But I’ve Run Out Of Repression. And Butter.

I love old cookbooks. I love how, through food, we get a glimpse of social and home life at the time of the cook book’s publication.

Recently, I inherited a Betty Crocker cook book from my Grandmother. It is the 1956 2nd edition, and full of useful information on how to be a pleasant housewife and a good hostess.

Let’s take a look at some of these gems, shall we?

The first page is titled “Special Helps.” In front of that Grandma paper-clipped instructions for making 15 different cocktails. Even the Cappuccino contains an ounce of Brandy. “Special Helpers” indeed!

The tips on measuring and cooking techniques are still useful today. And strongly enforced.

Measure that pan, lest Officer McShane beat you within an inch of your life.

Betty Crocker shares more meal-planning wisdom. For example:

“Why are some mothers tired all the time and some children fighting colds all winter? Probably because they don’t eat the right things.”

It certainly can’t have anything to do with having to chase after children who squabble and and lick things. It has nothing to do with the elaborate meals this cookbook recommends she plans three times a day, every day. It can’t be staying up all night with a colicky baby. Nope.

If only I fed my family the right things...

Now, since you want a well-nourished family, Betty Crocker lists some suggestions for everyday dinners:

“Roast Beef, Browned Potatoes, New Peas in Cream, Mixed Green Salad, Dinner Rolls, Fruit Ambrosia, and Yorkshire Pudding.”

It’s the least you could do.

And let’s not forget dessert! The “Cakes” section opens with the following fanfare:

“We now proclaim you as a member of the Society of Cake Artists! And do hereby vest in you all the skills, knowledge, and secrets of the “gentle art” of cakemaking.”

The first rule of the Society of Cake Artists is
don’t talk about the Society of Cake Artists.

And while whipping up those cakes, keep in mind:

“A butter icing is like a favorite cotton dress ... simple and easy to put on.”

Not this kind of dress...

Let’s move on to Main Dishes...

“Poorly made main dishes have come to have a bad reputation, especially as a substitute for meat."

[Forced smile] I know it’s not steak, but I’ll forgive you. This time.

Frankly, this cookbook is an embarrassment. It makes no recognition of or advice for women working outside the home. It is a useful resource to bolster the arguments in favor of the women’s rights movement, a movement that is still being fought today.

But I can’t address that right now. It’s 10:56 p.m., and I have to put on my cotton dress and start preparing tomorrow’s three course dinner for my husband and children, or they’ll come down with Ebola or something.

I think I need one of those Brandy Cappuccinos.

Balancing Act

The princesses have descended upon my household.

Since she was born, Preschooler was exposed to a wide variety of toys; dolls, tea sets, dress-up, but also cars, trucks, and trains. And she played pretty equally with all of them.

But lately, it’s princesses, princesses, princesses. All her dress-up involves princesses. All her dolls are princesses. All day she pretends she’s a princess (except for the days she pretends she’s an airplane). Even when she pretends to be a doctor, one of her favorite activities, she is now a princess doctor.

And her cars, trucks, and trains are starting to see less and less playtime.

I know that many mothers before me have struggled with, and blogged about, how to raise children while avoiding gender stereotypes, expectations, and restrictions. Well, now it’s my turn.

I don’t know how to respond to this new-found obsession with princesses. I want to raise my girls the way I was raised, to know that I do not have to be limited or defined by my gender.

At the same time, to be honest, all my favorite childhood activities were “girly” activities. I loved Barbies. I loved dresses. I declined opportunities to play soccer or softball in favor of dancing ballet. And I turned out ok.

Because even though Best Friend and I played Barbies every single day one memorable summer, the Barbies usually dressed in their ball gowns and then became astronauts who explored distant galaxies.

And when I struggled with math class, I knew that my struggles had nothing to do with being a girl.

And thanks to the efforts of countless women before me, I took for granted that my high school had both a boy's basketball team and a girl's basketball team.

Perhaps it’s all about balance. Because thousands of women before me fought for, marched for, strove for women's rights, I can offer my child a choice. Barbie dolls or basketballs - it’s up to her.