On Sunday I took Celie and Iris to a special classical music concert for kids (a really neat event; peer pressure somehow led all the little kids to sit relatively quietly on the floor in front — very sweet). I was explaining to them on the way there that the music (it was Ravel and Debussy) is intended to help you imagine things. Iris said, “I’m always so busy thinking things that there isn’t any room for imagining.” When I pressed further, she said, “well, maybe I can tell my body to push all the thoughts out so I can try to imagine.” (The contradicts, btw, a recent comment she made that she’s always thinking of secret stories in her head. Although maybe that’s what she means by thinking.)
Years ago a friend of ours commented that the following experience finally made her believe that gender is to some degree hard-wired: they gave their (2 year old?) daughter a toy train, which she lovingly swaddled and put to bed. The girls did something yesterday that reminded me of that. C&I were playing and having play-fights with this “sword” (a plastic extendable thingy that looks kind of like a light saber). At one point we overheard Iris murmur, “I’m the mommy and I’m putting on my goodest fighting gloves.” (These are gardening gloves Sarah bought them recently that they primarily use to play with Pot Luck.) Later they put “Swordy” to bed for the night — put him in the cloth napkin drawer where they tucked him in like a baby.
(Let me add that I would never claim that this proves anything about biological gender — at this point, almost age five, C&I’s veins course with princess-y gender ideology that is way beyond our control.)