before you met me I was a fairy princess

People are always telling me how lucky I am to be raising a real live princess. Isn't it fabulous, they ask, to hang out with royalty all the time? And then I laugh a little and try to break it to  them gently that it's actually quite a bit harder than it seems.  Because what they don't reveal in Disney films is that princesses, real live ones, require a lot of upkeep - they have many, many needs and opinions to take into consideration before heading out the door to run an errand or visit a friend. They break down sometimes in frustration when others fail to recognize their uber-specialness, their inherited right to be catered to. 

Sure there are plenty of time-outs on the "whining throne,"  plenty of lessons on how princesses ought to speak (kindly) and ought to share (generously). Surely, surely, it is labor intensive but along the way, I've been blessed by her conviction that what appears, upon first glance, to be ordinary and mundane has the potential to become majestic with but a simple change of perspective. Princesses, real ones anyway, find beauty in everything.  For now, I am the mother of a tiny queen in training. What can I say? It's the role of a lifetime and I'm trying my hardest to appreciate every minute of it - to curb the "give me-s," the sense of entitlement, without dampening her enthusiasm, imagination, confidence and spunk. Someday, I'll look back and recall only the sparkly, shining parts. I'll say to the mother of a crowned three-year-old at the library or in line at the grocery store, Well, goodness, aren't you lucky? My memories will, like all great fairy tales, remain charmingly biased and golden.