Pippi Longstocking (Is Coming Into Your World)

I have this vague recollection of being awestruck by Pippi Longstocking as a child.
She was so strong! And fearless! And irreverent!

Oh, how I longed to be more like that plaited red-head.  I even thought about how tightly I would have to braid my own hair to make it stick out like that.  And I practiced braiding it over and over to achieve the desired effect, to no avail.
 
We must have borrowed the VHS tape (1988's The New Adventures of Pippi Longstocking) from our local library at some point in my youth, because the theme song -long cobwebbed over by more immediately useful memories- sprang forth from my lips within moments of the first instrumental bars, as if it had been living there, awaiting Pippi's triumphant return.  "Pippi Longstocking is coming into your world, a freckle-faced, red-haired girl. You oughta know she'll send your life into a whirl..."

Yet watching it with Peach to fill a lazy Saturday afternoon was like seeing it for the first time.  I had new eyes, albeit more critical ones, through which I marveled at both my own skewed memory (Is this the same movie that had me convinced of Pippi's cool factor?) and the rapt attention paid by my easily bored almost-four-year-old.  She almost missed the ending, it wrapped so abruptly.  A sincere "What happened?" was uttered.

Now Pippi is the new black.
She asked to watch it again today, only making it about 20 minutes in before she was sated.  Just a little Pippi fix, and she's good until tomorrow.

And I'll be honest, I'm stoking her obsession a bit.
I'm pretty wild about strong female protagonists who aren't reduced to rubble by romance (though I dig on romance, too).  Anything to broaden her horizons beyond ponies and princesses.  I want the opportunity to emphasize Pippi's positive traits (generosity, a positive attitude) over those potentially harmful ones (recklessness!).

I also appreciate that there are no marketing campaigns aimed at making my kiddo want a never-ending supply of plastic Pippi merchandise.
Peach has been randomly quoting commercials to herself lately, and my muttering plot to cut down on TV time has been little more than wasted breath.  And while I admit it's hardly a classic, Pippi Longstocking is the height of culture by comparison (I insist to myself).  Come to think of it, I take similar pleasure in exposing her to vintage Warner Brothers cartoons.  Oh!  And she loves Labyrinth, which makes me so proud.

I think my motives can be surmised thusly: If she watches what I watched, maybe she'll turn out like me, and I'm not half bad.

This same philosophy may apply to why I'm always trying to make her clothes.

(Hmm... Sudden introspection.  Will have to revisit this territory when I'm not typing one-handed and nursing a sleepy baby.)