In the evening before leaving for a New Year’s Eve party, my boy came in while I was nursing his baby sister and said:

G: Mom, let’s play where you be the Princess and I be the King, okay?
M: OK.
G: Um, Princess?
M: Yes?
G: I am the King, and I guard you. This is my sword (brandishing his latest Trio-Lego creation) and I fight bad guys with it.  And also?  I have a gun that I can hold. And you are strong enough… (*crash* – sword drops and splits into pieces)  Wuups I gotta fix my sword!”
M: Oh!
G: (Fixes sword.) And also Princess?
M: Yes King?
G: Our Queen is growing.
M: Really?
G: Yes.  My baby sister is the Queen.  You are nursing her and we are growing her.  But soon she’ll be grown and she won’t… she won’t… be a Baby Queen anymore.
M: Oh!
G: I’m gonna go look for bad guys now. (Exits.)
(Then later returns.)
G: Princess?
M: Yes King?
G: The Other King is putting on a *tie.*
M: A *tie!* Oh my! (Jumping up.)  I better get dressed then!
G: Yeah.  And put on a dress, like a dancer, Princess.  Because princesses are dancers.
M:  Okay! (I squeeze into the skin tight leopard number the “Other King” just gave me for my birthday.)
G:  (Supervises and frowns disapprovingly.)  No!  (Tugging the edge of my dress.)  This is not a dancer skirt!
J:  You’re right, King.  Maybe we can go find a pretty dress for your sister?  She is The Queen, right?
G:  Yeah!

And that is what we did.
(o: