They're "ACTION FIGURES," the champ chided emphatically.
"NOT DOLLS!" as I had erroneously called one after stepping on it and hopping around the living room floor swearing and openly wishing the dog would chew them all to plastic bits.
"Then pick up your ACTION FIGURES and put them away before someone gets maimed."
He just harrumphed and headed toward his toys with sloth-like speed.
Honestly, I don't see that much difference between the way the boy plays and the way the girl does. They both sing songs as they move toys around in their imaginary worlds. They both shriek and act like their fingernails are being ripped out one-by-one when the other touches their stuff.
The only difference seems to be the terms.
In Boyland, dolls, as we've all learned, are "action figures."
Doll houses are "secret lairs."
And doll clothes are disguises.
His dudes surf ...
Rescue damsels ...
or not ...
His dudes fight with their sisters ...
It didn't even seem out of the ordinary when he asked me to make him a doll like the one I made for his sister.
Only his doll had to be a boy doll.
With boy doll parts.
"That means he wants his doll to have a penis," Ittybit translated.
I knew that. I was just stunned into silence.
What can of worms would this open?
Of course, Ittybit was laughing at me. Over-thinking as usual.
"It's not that difficult," she said, brushing past me to sit behind the sewing machine. She took a scrap of fabric, folded it twice and ran it under the presser foot like a pro. A few passes of the machine and it was done.
She turned it inside out and handed me the results.
I had to admit. It looked like a private part.
She showed it to her brother, who was delighted. It looked convincing enough.
"Are you going to put it on my doll," he asked, unable to contain his excitement.
"Not before I have clothes ready. This doll has to be appropriately dressed in public places. Just like you can't go to school nude, he can't take off his clothes unless he's taking a bath or getting ready for bed.
"How long is that going to take?"
"Have patience. I don't want to rush it and make a mistake."
"Please hurry. He REALLY needs to go to the baffroom, and I don't want him to have an accident."
Turns out, it was simple operation.
And in case you wondering:
Boxers are easier to sew than briefs.