My colleague’s name is Jessica. Alice was wearing a green dress.
For the rest of that afternoon, she insisted that I call her “Princess Jessica.”
And every time she wore the green dress after that, she was Princess Jessica. Then there were princesses for every other dress in her closet.
When she wears the blue dress with white flowers, she is Princess Emily. The pink dress with an orange bow is Princess Annabelle. There also are princesses Lulu, Melita, Staida, Hoda and Anastasia in her wardrobe.
When she gets a new dress she asks me, “What’s this princess’s name?”
I guess. Carmen? Catalina? Elena?
“No, I don’t think that’s her name.”
“Then what’s her name?” I ask.
“I think this princess’s name is Gracie.”
All of them have back stories. One princess helps animals that are hurt. Another is a water princess. I think at least one of them flies.
This morning, I pulled out Princess Staida’s dress for Alice to wear to school, and when I brought out a pair of white sandals to go with it, she said, “Those are not Staida’s shoes … “
I held my breath. The wrong shoes can mean an ugly dispute. Just depends on the morning. Whether I’m of a mind to insist or she is.
“…But, she can borrow them.”
At 3-and-a-half years old, my sweet Alice loves balloons and strawberry yogurt and watching old home movies of herself.
She can hardly believe how small she used to be.
The other night, giggly, she asked me to rock her like a baby. I did, and I couldn’t believe how small she used to be either.