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Posted April 14, 2009 by Mary Dixon Lebeau

Being the only female member of our household (well, besides moi!), Libby was never challenged for the princess role. Her brothers had no interest, of course, and her big sister finished her reign and moved on to her own kingdom. So Lotsa Locks ruled over all that was sparkly or glittery; any magic wands, Happy Meal jewelry, or (of course) tiaras that came into our home were automatically bestowed on her.

Not only that -- she (and her princess garb) received all the neighborhood attention as well. 

Our neighbors -- mostly empty nesters, with a single guy thrown in for good measure -- appreciated the magic our princess brought as she strutted down the sidewalks of Shields Avenue, showing off her ball gown with a rhinestone crown adorning her long braids.  They, too, would gift our child with the girly things -- old necklaces, satin high heels, a tiny tea set -- mere clutter in their homes now that their own daughters had grown.

But then, the unthinkable happened. The older couple across the street moved to a retirement complex, and a new family -- a new royal family -- moved in.  These were no subjects for Libby's ever-growing kingdom; no, this was a monarchy of its own, with a king and a queen and (can you imagine?) a princess all its own.

Princess Bree is a beautiful blonde princess who was a shade taller and two years older than our princess across the street.  She even comes with a lady-in-waiting, a cute-as-a-button little sister still in diapers who suddenly made the knights and trolls in our house look ordinary, even annoying, to Princess Libby.

The two princesses often crossed the street to play with each other, which ended in tears as often as laughter. They giggled, they cried, they fought, they hugged -- and each stubbornly held onto her own and wanted what the other had.

"Why can't I have a little sister? My brothers never want to have tea parties," grumbled Libby, her tiara askew, as she watched Bree pour a cup of lemonade for her lady-in-waiting from a pretty pink pitcher.

And her disenchantment didn't stop there. Suddenly, neighbors were sharing their attention -- and their admiration -- between the princesses on either side of the street. "That's a pretty gown, Libby," an older woman admired, then added, "Did you see the pink one Bree had yesterday? It was so sparkly!"

"Oh, Bree is getting that very same doll for Christmas," another neighbor noted when Libby showed off the Kit Kittredge American Girl she received for her birthday.

"Why did she have to get Kit?  Why couldn't she get Ruthie?" Libby complained.

It was Bree's mother -- the lovely Queen Nicole -- who put her finger on the problem. "They are so much alike. They're just like sisters," she noted.

And royal sisters can share a kingdom -- just like Ariel and all the other mermaid daughters of King Triton. The solution was allowing each her own identity, while maintaining their share of the kingdom.  Suddenly, I knew just what to do.

Queen Nicole and I bought some very special princess gowns.  "These aren't for you," I explained as I handed the wrapped boxes to the princesses.  "They're for your Kits."

Inside the boxes were princess gowns for the American Girls.  Bree's Kit received a blue gown, just like her favorite princess, Cinderella.  Libby's Kit received the pink gown just like Aurora's.

"You see, the Kits are a lot alike, but they're different too.  Just like you two," I said.

"They're both beautiful," Bree said, admiring the gowns. "And they love each other."

"Just like us," Libby said, and took out her favorite tea set for a celebration.

I wish I could say there was peace in the kingdom from that point on. But, of course, squabbles still break out on occasion. But the princesses on both sides of Shields Avenue are learning to embrace their differences -- and share the kingdom.