The princess is leaning over my shoulder while I'm typing a blog entry this morning. "Oh, look," she says, pointing to my profile picture. "There's Loren." I stop writing and erase everything. It looks like this conversation is going to be a better topic. I ask, "Who is Loren, Princess?" She's in the middle of the imaginary finale of her performance as the Sugar Plum Fairy in our den. Mid-twirl she says, "Loren is just a girl, like me. She is a beautiful princess who goes out on dates with my dad."
I scroll back to the picture and point to it, suddenly jealous of myself. "You mean this girl?" Princess shakes her head, "yes."
"That's me, Mommy."
"Yes, you are mommy, but when you put on your magical shoes and clothes and makeup then you turn into the Princess Loren in the picture. Mommy, can you get me a drink?"
She follows me into the kitchen, pausing at a small picture of my father escorting me down the aisle on my wedding day. "Mommy, where is papa going with Princess Loren in this picture, to the ball , like Cinderella?"
"That's mommy and daddy's wedding day. Papa is bringing me down the aisle at church to see Prince Daddy." At this point, big brother, who has been eavesdropping, enters the room.
He laughs. "My dad's not a prince, mommy, he's a princ-i-pal. I think you made a mistake. Can you get me a couple of Fig Newtus?"
"And me some cookies, my Cinderella mommy," shouts the princess.