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?
G: Um, Princess?
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!”
G: (Fixes sword.) And also Princess?
M: Yes King?
G: Our Queen is growing.
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.
G: I’m gonna go look for bad guys now. (Exits.)
(Then later returns.)
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?
And that is what we did.