Letter to Julie Andrews

Every night before I go to sleep, I sing the entire score of "Mary Poppins" to myself, or, if he's awake, to my husband. Sometimes, we sing it together. It takes about 25 minutes if we rush through the scenes in the bank. As the day progresses, our hearts beat in time to "Jolly Holiday," the toast popping up sounds like the beginning of "Chim-chimminey," and everytime I see a bird in the backyard, I automatically begin "The robin feathering his nest, has very little time to rest, while gathering his bits of twine and twig." All of this because of my two-year-old son's addiction to "Mary Poppins," which I have now seen some 46 times in the last month or so. Not to mention the spirited bobbing and weaving to the soundtrack that we perform for exercise in the middle of this terrible Canadian winter.

Julie Andrews, do you ever watch yourself in "Mary Poppins" and think to yourself that were you to make that movie today, the studio would have forced you into braces to correct that charming overbite? Did they force you to stand like that, with your feet pointing in opposite directions in those daft boots? Did it hurt? Do you look at your flawless complexion and think: "If only I'd started using the eye cream back then, it wouldn't be so bad today."? Did you secretly hold that all that the Banks children really needed was a good smack on the behind and not a magical nanny?

I also read today that when you were filming "The Sound of Music," you were knocked to the Austrian ground repeatedly by the helicopter filming your ecstatic twirly routine amidst the edelweiss. Did you ever swear strongly as you hit the dirt? Or did you just take it on the chin, knowing that it was your job?

I ask these questions because today's modern girl has precious few role models for measured and stately comportment, given the pressures of children and career. I feel that I am at risk of becoming an undersexed Victorian professional parent substitute with a penchant for giddy but short-lived flights of imagination or, worse, a spinny nun wannabe in a dirndl.