I’m Probably Going to Be Skipping “Beauty & the Beast”
Because Really — MUST There Be More Than This Provincial Life?
Last December, I roused myself from my domestic nest, arranged a babysitter, put on some real pants, washed behind my ears, and accompanied my husband to his work’s annual Christmas party. My emotions upon this occasion can only be described as “conflicted.”
“This is the first date we’ve been on in months, if you don’t count eating at the Costco food court!”
“I’ll be able to talk to real, live adults for hours on end!”
“Will NJ be ok? Will she miss me? Will she NOT miss me?”
But paramount among these worries was dread of the question that I knew I must face over and over again as I ran the gauntlet of awkward small talk:
“So, what do you do?”
I must confess to my readers that part of my motivation for writing is so that eventually I can get a paid gig, just one paid gig, so that I can answer this question, “Stay-At-Home-Mom AND Freelance Writer” instead of just “Stay-at-Home-Mom”.
Freelance writers are interesting, fascinating, mysterious. Stay-At-Home-Moms are bland, prosaic, and ordinary.
I know I shouldn’t feel this way. Why should I feel like being a SAHM is less interesting or worthy of respect than being a freelance writer or an actuarial analyst or a NASA engineer? Why do I feel this way? I’ve finally figured it out.
It’s because of Belle.
A little background: Belle used to be my favorite Disney princess. She liked to read. She had a horse. She looked absolutely smashing in yellow. And when she sang, “I want adventure in the great, wide somewhere …” my young, impressionable heart quickened in sympathy. Who doesn’t want that?
Considering my early love of Belle, you would think I would be the first in line to see the live-action re-boot that is being released this Friday. While I’m not exactly planning to boycott the film, I have to confess that I’m also not really motivated to put on real pants and pay $9.00 to go see it, either. Because you see, somewhere between age five and age twenty-nine, my perception of Belle has changed — drastically.
Returning to my back-story: after becoming an adult I did have some Belle-esque adventures. I moved away from my small, suburban Michigan hometown to the “great wide somewhere” of central Washington (that’s a state, by the way). I lived a carefree (if tame) single life, answerable to no one but myself. I took advantage of my independence to take weekend trips and do all those spontaneous, single-life things that would be impossible now. And then … my future husband came along. Cue wedding bells. Cue wedded bliss. Cue baby. I began to fall into the very predictable patterns of traditional domestic life . To top it all off, we decided that for our family, it made the most sense for me to stay home and for my husband to be not just the primary, but the sole breadwinner. Basically, all we’re really missing is a literal white picket fence.
Now that I lead the ordinary life of a stay-at-home mom, it is not quite as thrilling to watch Belle twirl through the streets of her small, provincial town, singing about the “little people” living out their sad, pathetic lives. Because I am now exactly the kind of “little person” that she is talking about.
I’ve talked about this with friends who aren’t SAHMs before, and they think I’m exaggerating: Belle doesn’t have anything against the village people, she just wants something different.
Fair enough — I’m not saying that she bears animosity towards them. No, her attitude towards the provincial hicks of her town is something that stings much worse than animosity:
Pity. Condescension. Dismissal. Have you ever known one of those people who were “nice” to you, but you knew that they didn’t respect you? I think there are probably not 1 in 100 of us who would not rather be antagonized than pitied.
Probably most of the people at the office Christmas party don’t have this attitude. Probably most of them don’t see me as a pathetically resigned, small-minded automaton. But I think Belle is part of why I’m always suspicious that they do. And I have to admit that, before I joined the ranks of the provincials, I kind of had that attitude, too, although it was an attitude that was residual, not intentional. Social attitudes rub off, even when we don’t consciously adopt them. As a little girl, the lesson I learned from Belle was that it was more commendable to dream of some generic, amorphous “adventure in the great wide somewhere”, than to search for meaning in the everyday business of living ordinary life and investing in personal relationships.
I also learned that enlightened, large-minded people like Belle have a very low opinion of family life. Let’s consider Belle’s less-than-flattered reaction to Gaston’s proposal:
Madame Gaston, can’t you just see it?
Madame Gaston, his little wife, ugh
No sir, not me, I guarantee it
I want much more than this provincial life
It’s interesting that the lyrics focus as much on the fact the he represents bondage to the “provincial life” that she so disdains as it does that he is terrible husband material and a generally awful human being. The disdain she has for traditional domestic life could not be more clear. Anything would be better than this:
Or if you didn’t get the message there, how about the frazzled mom with clone-like babies spilling out of her arms during the “Little Town” sequence, frantically screeching, “I need — 6 eggs!” These kind of stereotypes go over your head when you’re a 7-year-old kid, but when you’re a stay-at-home mom, they become painful.
I don’t think this kind of attitude is helpful, or necessary to guaranteeing that women have choices beyond the traditional mother/housewife model. When you teach girls that this is how a “liberated” society will see them if they don’t make the “right” choice, you’ve just exchanged one kind of repression for another.
Perhaps someday we will live in a society that has learned how to provide girls with access to the same opportunities as boys without belittling motherhood, domestic work, and family life.
And that $9.00 I’ll save by not going to the movie? I’ll put it towards another pair of stretchy-pants.
A version of this story was previously published in “I Digress”.
