As the father of two girls I've experienced some stuff over the years that has made me feel slightly less than manly. I've attended multiple tea parties in a pink feather boa. I've been up to my eyeballs in Barbies, princesses, and pink tutus. I've gleefully dined at Disney World with Cinderella, Snow White, and Belle. I've even gotten dangerously close to becoming a stage mom at multiple dance recitals. Luckily for me I never figured out how to put hair in a bun rendering me virtually useless in the world of dance.

That's a good thing.

So was the birth of my son. He gave me an excuse to avoid the frillier side of parenting. For better or worse, he also took some of the burden off me. Of course there was a price to pay. I wasn't wearing the feather boa anymore, but he was.

My girls also managed to put him in tight spandex costumes, and when I'd come home from work expecting to see my little linebacker, Mikel Barishnikov would greet me at the door instead. However, the pendulum is swinging back our way, or at least my girls are getting a little older. They don't need my son or me to fulfill their girlish games anymore. They also love college football and play sports of their own. The days of feather boas and spandex costumes may finally be behind us, but that doesn't mean they still aren't girls.

My family and I spent this past weekend at a soccer tournament near Atlanta. There happens to be a store near Atlanta in Alpharetta that may just be the girliest of girl Meccas in the modern world. It's called the American Girl boutique and bistro, and it's part of the phenomena that is the American Girl franchise.

For those that don't know, American Girl dolls represent nine to ten- year- old girls who lived through important times in American history. So far the franchise has sold over 14 million dolls and 123 million of the adventure books that go along with them.

I think my girls may just have several million of each - at least it feels that way when they're spread across my couch. Needless to say, we couldn't take a trip to Atlanta without going to the American Girl boutique and bistro.

I've seen my girls greet Cinderella for the first time, and I've seen them every Christmas morning of their lives. The expression on each of their faces, as my oldest carried her Samantha doll and my youngest carried her Nellie doll into that store, was something I'd never seen before. The pearly gates had opened, and the angels were all wearing giant hair bows. The place was wall- to- wall dolls and accessories. It was like Homer Simpson walking into a Krispy Kreme or Angelina Jolie into an orphanage. My girls could not get enough.

Thanks to generous grandparents, they shopped unmercifully. My son and I waited patiently knowing the bistro part of the outing was coming soon. After a three- coarse meal at the bistro, my girls decided to have Samantha and Nellie's hair done at the doll hair salon. That's right…the doll hair salon. That was enough for my son and me. We found the nearest sporting goods store and hid behind some footballs until the evening ended.

Even though I felt the overwhelming need to cook outdoors and scratch inappropriately afterwards, I have to say the American Girl experience was entirely worth it. It sure beat stage mom duty, and my son and I survived with our manliness in tact. Plus, I'd pay any price to see that look on my girls' faces anytime.