By the time dinner had ended, I wasn't quite sure which name to use to address my child. Dorothy? Are you there? Where are you Dorothy? Annie? Rapunzel? Let down your hair.
Kit Kittredge? Is that you? Are you going to eat your carrots, Kit? Can Toto have them? Daddy Warbucks made salmon. Yummy? Are you waiting for Flynn Rider to give you a kiss? Are you going to save him?
It may be a jumbled mashup of fairy tales to you, but in Leighton's mind, she is the star of a very complicated, detailed, two year-old fantasy built on the cornerstone of the unstoppable force of Disney.
She's incredibly dramatic. I love it.
I bought the Rapunzel wig a few months ago as a "poop-on-the-potty" present. (See? I just can't escape it - even in print.) She loved it for five seconds and then lost her shit completely because the long synthetic strands tickled her arms and then got caught on her hands, in basically the same fashion as each of the Tangled Rapunzel dolls we bought for her.
Crying ensued and I hung the wig up for a spell. Until she asked for it last night. Right after we finished watching the first half of Kit Kittredge: An American Girl while playing with Barbies, babies and wearing a Sleeping Beauty nightgown with her ruby slippers.
Ryan is putting Princess Annie Rapunzel Kittredge to bed right now. She was pretending to sleep for a thousand years anyway, so we convinced her that it would be much more comfortable to await her true love's first kiss in the comfort of her own cozy little bed.
Luckily, she agreed.
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