Spooked Again

I don’t generally recycle posts – shoddy workmanship and all – but this one really deserved to be hauled out and dusted off for  Halloween as I’ve been all in a kerfuffle over the costume catalogues that have been arriving, unsolicited, for weeks now.
Husband and I have been quietly putting them straight in the outside bin before Five and Two are are corrupted by the kiddie porn contained within their pages.

You will note that Five is referred to as Four (as she was then) and Two as One. But other than that most things are pretty much the same in our household.  I urge you, if you have time, to click on the highlighted links in my posts. I don’t have too many of them but they will often yield interesting or amusing and pertinent information and I have rigged them so they’ll open in a separate window (ooh! I’m so TECHNICAL MINDED! *clapclclapclap*)

Finally, before I set off on the body of the post, I would like to apologise to Iota who was possibly my only reader this time last year and definitely the only person who commented back then. A virtual bottle of champagne to you, and everyone else; go and read her blog, it’s great.

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I never realised until I became a parent that the calendar year, to a child, is not counted in days, weeks and months, but instead is delineated by occasions that will yield either gifts, baked goods or ice cream that I ‘magic’ into the freezer (this last mysterious power only available to me on public holidays)
For instance, I’m frequently asked – starting around Dec 27th – how long it is until Christmas. 
Then we recite the calendar according to Four
First it’s Valentine’s day (chocolate), then Easter (chocolate), then her birthday (cake, presents) then One’s birthday (cake, more presents that she will appropriate), then Labor day (magic ice cream) then Halloween (candy), then Thanksgiving (big rip-off, no presents, no chocolate)  then finally it will be Christmas again. I usually try to think up a few extras to throw in to get across the idea that it’s a really long time until next Christmas, but she’s already composing her list by the time I’ve run through the year.

So now that we have Labour day and its accompanying ice cream out of the way, it is time to prepare for Halloween. It is not yet October but we have been spotting pumpkins, candy corn, plastic skeletons that light up and sing ‘The Monster Mash’ when you pass by, false fangs and blood, wigs. ie the usual paraphernalia. It’s all out there in the shops, waiting to be bought by ghouls big and small for a night of unholy glee.
Four has been talking about her costume for, oh say, eleven months now (November 1st, if I recall correctly was when she started planning this year’s sugar-fest). Rather sweetly she has insisted on being a black cat for several years running and was a bit put out that her costume from the last two didn’t fit her and that tank-boy One could not be squeezed into his age 4 months lamb suit either. She talked about what she might be this year and asked me to help her get a new one. Now, in our household we try to have a relaxed approach to clothing and Four is just as likely to be wearing her tutu on any given day as she is a pair of grubby cargo pants from the boys’ section with her ’sabre tooth tiger shoes’ and possibly all three. We have, however, tried to keep her from being unduly influenced by the vicious mores of gender biased commercialism ever since that memorable day when she was sitting in the bathtub and suddenly asked me

“Mummy, will I have to give up my voice to make someone love me?”

WHAT?

“Well, Ariel did, so will I have to too?”

Was it too early for us to start reading her Germaine Greer together? 
Perhaps, but not a minute too soon to jettison Ariel, Cinderella, Snow White and all the other Disney Princesses from our lives. They can keep their victimhood, their alarmingly inflated bustlines and their marketing mitts off my daughter while they’re at it. 
So branded princesses nixed, I had a hunt on the internet for costumes and what I found was truly chilling.

For my little girl I could buy:

A Child’s French Maid Outfit

Nice! With a photo of a lip-glossed eight year-old  in a tiny frilly french maid outfit complete with a miniskirt, white apron, feather duster, and come-hither smile.

Don’t believe me? It’s on Amazon.

Or how about:

The Red Hot Child:  She may look like a devil but this girl is all charm on the inside. Or does she just want you to think that?”
Um, do they get their ad copy from porn sites? 
You can get this charming costume in sizes starting at age 4-6 with a midriff baring halter top and diamond shaped cutout right where there aren’t any breasts yet, but we’ll draw some attention to where they will be in TEN YEARS TIME. Skintight flared trousers with sequined waistband that points in a big V down to the crotch area are nicely complimented by a curved phallic tail and elbow length stripper-style fingerless gloves. The 6 year old who was unfortunate enough to be selected for this modeling job appears to have been studying poses from the Frederick’s of Hollywood catalogue.

Now forgive me if I’ve got the wrong end of the stick, but aren’t those kind of outfits supposed be for grown women in order to inflame men with desire so that they want to pounce on you and have wild unbridled sex? Don’t we have a huge problem with pedophiles and child molesters? So why is it okay to have these costumes out there for sale in the mainstream and why do so many people buy them? What is it about our society that makes so many girls want them and so many parents think it’s okay to let them have them? What possible benefit is there to sexualizing children, except to the very people we want to protect them from?

I left my computer feeling soiled and sickened and very glad that I hadn’t let Four look with me this time.

Last week we stopped at a local store to buy a gift for a baby we know and as it happened there were several Halloween costumes for toddlers on sale. No princesses or lil’ hookers, but lots of fairly innocuous animals in various sizes and Four and One were enchanted. We spent a happy hour making a giant mess of the display trying them all on. After some deliberation, however, Four decided that none of these would do and that she was going to be – surprise – a black cat again this year. We found her some black pants and a shirt, stuck some ears on a headband and we’re making the tail out of an old pair of tights. She’s ecstatic and so am I, and although she won’t look as polished or professional as some of her friends, she is proud of what she’s done, and it’s her own achievement.

This holiday, after all is about kids eating too much candy, not kids being eye-candy.