My daughter plays with trucks. And dolls. But mostly dolls. My son plays with dolls. And trucks. But mostly trucks.

I didn't think it would matter very much, particularly because I'm not very "girly" - I don't wear makeup or care much about shoes and purses and mostly I just want to bury my nose in a good book. And my husband, while extremely manly (in the "I can change the oil and grill a burger and love a good beer" kind of way), isn't all that "macho" - like he doesn't watch sports or hunt and he's actually better than I am at changing diapers (and thank god in heaven for all of that!). So, I thought "girl" toys and activities and "boy" toys and activities wouldn't have much meaning in our house.

But I was wrong about that. This was brought most starkly to my attention today by the following:

• D, coming around the corner, huge grin on his face, proud as all hell of himself, pushing his sister's toy stroller - with a ball in it. "Ball!"
• E, playing with the wonderful Schleich brachiosaurus ("Look, mama, it's a broccoliasaurus!") my sister sent her, twisting a pearl necklace around and around so that it crept up the dinosaur's neck, "Pretty!" she proclaimed.
  

Indeed.