That memory came back full circle today. I was quietly washing the dishes from a nice leisurely breakfast of pancakes and sausage, when Kyra came running in the room all in a fret. I asked her what was wrong and she just stomped her foot and told me in a huffy voice to come see what happened in her bedroom. Now fortunately, she wasn't crying or screaming, but I could tell she was quite distraut. I walked into her bedroom to find this:
Yes, her polly pockets had been mutilated. Only, there was no BIG brother to blame it on, only a small lanky girl with her head cocked to the side, while smiling and batting her beautiful blue eyes. Yes, I can see we have a long road ahead of us.