Mama, just let it go…

Mirja Mey - 12 Dec 14

Disney really know how to wiggle their characters into a child’s heart – no matter how young.

My small daughter, now a proud 4-year-old, was only 3 when the Frozen avalanche threatened to bury us all. Out comes the DVD, the CD, and the many magical songs that I am privileged to listen to from those tiny lungs from around 7am in the morning. OK – I can bear this, this is creative, I need to support this.

Don’t we all like to discover the musical talents dormant in our young ones…
I can just about bear to watch this film more than once, wait for it, daily. (It doesn’t help that my 2 year-old son shares his name with reindeer Sven – another great source of entertainment for my two offspring).

This is where I think, Frozen will at some point have its day and we can get back to Nemo and Ariel. But nope.

I managed to cleverly avoid any mega expensive sing-along tickets, but not the adamant Disney toy franchise. From knickers to stickers, it’s Elsa, Elsa, Elsa. And here someone, who must hate parents, came up with this Elsa movement activated doll.

Naturally, my little Stella, when invited by my aunt to choose ONE toy from the Disney shop – I still don’t know what possessed us to go in there – walks straight up to this doll and takes it. I was so pleased and so proud that she had stuck to the ONE toy rule, that I didn’t read the label, nor bothered to explore what kind of a doll this was. I was just glad to get out of there with no tears and ONE toy.

Back home, our predicament begins.

Let me be absolutely straight about this: each time you as much as crawl past this doll to create as little air as possible it sings full volume ‘Let It Goooooo, Let It Goooo… etc etc.’

To Stella’s great joy and my aunt’s and my growing horror, darling Elsa pumps out her tunes every 10 seconds – it’s basically constant.

I see my daughter making wild arm movements in the air and with glowing delight setting off this doll across the entire house. There is no escape. I’m not even bothering to tell her you just need to sniff at it and it goes off. At this point, even Sven – my son, not the reindeer, looks slightly grey in the face.

My priorities move immediately to finding the off button. And I can’t find the damn thing. I look everywhere under icy Elsa’s frills and it’s no use. Cannot find it. I am now seriously desperate. Stella completely hyper, Sven increasingly sweaty, the cats nowhere to be seen and my aunt and I feeling slightly noxious.

I distract Stella with the movie, yes I know…, grab dollie and hide her in the downstairs loo. Just away from any human interaction. Finally, silence. Well apart from the movie.

I wander upstairs exhausted wondering where my aunt is, and there it comes from the downstairs loo ‘Let it goooo, let it goo….’ followed by my poor aunt’s cry of pain. I had forgotten to tell her where I’d hidden Elsa. The irony of sitting on the loo and having some doll shout ‘Let it go’ at you, is not lost on either of us.

So we google Disney to find the off button. Luckily it does exist. Not where you’d think mind you, but it’s there. I’m wondering whether to set-up a Frozen Helpline for parents. I’m wondering whether to stalk whoever came up with the idea and lock them in a room full of Elsa dolls and many fans. Tied up.

I walk into the living room and sure enough there are Elsa (on screen), and Stella (glued-to screen), Letting It Go full volume. Sven chucks his (luckily empty) juice carton at the TV screen followed by some inhumane cry. I want to discipline him, but I can’t. I feel for him. I’m with him. I sigh. I’m beaten.

I go and order the Elsa fancy dress online for Christmas, including shoes. But not the stupid wig. Oh my fighting spirit is back, Disney. Oh you nearly had me there. Oh no Disney, I’m not getting that stupid wig. Ever! Do you hear me? I am winning this. Oh yes I am. You think you’re so smart. Bring it on, Frozen 2, Frozen 3, Frozen 356. I will never buy that stupid wig. So there. Bah.

In the evening, Sven, who hasn’t spoken many words by then, sits in the bathtub and all of a sudden, like a pro, like it’s always been there in him, sings 3 new words: L….I….G….

I want to cry. I want to be sick. Disney have come for my son. My beautiful, temperamental, juice-carton-throwing son. They got him. There is no escape. I’m Frozen. I want to listen to Madonna’s song.

I wipe away the small tear in my left eye and go and grab Stella’s Elsa pjs, her new Elsa track suits for the next day and one of 2 Frozen backpacks she got for her birthday. I’m not getting the knickers. Oh no. I won’t give you that, Disney.

Let it go, Mama, I say to myself… just let it go.

Motherhood is different for all of us… if you’d like to share your thoughts, why not join our Network & start posting?

Mirja Mey

Mirja Mey is a 'Masterchef' addict, cat lover, and loves dancing in the kitchen. She's been working as a TV journalist for Reuters for seventeen years and has had her blushing moments with celebrities on the red carpet. (From behind the barriers). When not working, nappy changing, cat feeding, or seeking enlightenment for serial Mums, she enjoys cooking, learning about Life Coaching and watching German TV soaps. She lives in Kent with her husband Gerry, her two children - Stella (4), and Sven (2), and cats Rio and Switch. She makes an awesome mac cheese.

View profile for posts, events and more info