My 2-year-old daughter, Sloane, recently proclaimed herself a king.

I had no problem with it, but it drove her brother, Corwin, up the wall.

At 9 years old, Corwin knows that girls just don't grow up to be kings.

"Tell her she can be a queen," he insisted.

I refused, so he attempted it himself.

Sloane didn't care. "I king," she crowed until he surrendered in defeat.

Corwin should know I've never been particularly concerned about gender-appropriate behavior.

When he decided in preschool that his favorite color was pink, I didn't protest.

An early preference for pastels certainly didn't stop him from developing into an arm-farting, loogie-hawking boy with a disdain for all things he deems "girly."

Corwin forms new opinions about girls by the day.

He's already dreading Sloane's teen years, when, he predicts, she'll be a sassy mall-rat who fills closets full of clothes she'll only wear once. "I just hope she doesn't watch 'That's So Raven,' " he frets.

Since she was spotted stroking the TV screen while a Hilary Duff video was on, he probably has reason to worry that the other Disney sirens will suck her in.

He might be right about the shopping thing, too. She certainly has it in her genes.

I've never been much of a girly girl, but Sloane seems to be picking up on the feminine tendencies I do display.

Before a rare night out without the kids, I modeled several dresses for their father so he could help me decide what to wear.

Sloane watched with interest and decided that she, too, must change clothes three or four times before finally selecting an outfit.

Other things she seems to pick up on her own, like a love for shoes and purses, two things that only interest me on a functional level.

But no child of mine is in danger of getting too prissy.

She may prefer flowers and frills, but she's not particularly concerned about protecting them from harm.

I haven't actually witnessed this, but I'm convinced that she regularly plops herself down on the ground, scoops up handfuls of dirt, drops them on her head then wipes her hands off on her shirt. That's the only explanation I can come up with for the dirt caked on her scalp and the dingy-brown stains on the butt and belly of all her outfits when I pick her up from preschool.

I have to agree with Corwin that becoming a king may be out of Sloane's reach, but I'm not going to tell her.

She'll figure out on her own that she's clearly a little princess.

Reach Treena Shapiro at tshapiro@honoluluadvertiser.com.