"Moom!" Elsa huffed, clumping up the steps.
I looked up from my coffee and book. With a deep scowl on her face, my darling daughter came in the door. Pat, clump, pat, clump. One shoe on, the other in her hand. "What's up?" I asked.
"Oliver's just not supposed to do that," she moaned. "He took my shoe off."
"Hmm," said I, tying her shoe for her, "how 'bout that."
"...ANNND," her exasperation deepened, "he put a pine cone in my hood."
As I dug the offending pine cone out for her, I couldn't help chuckling. Oh, dear. How well I remember just this sort of pointless picking. Doing something for the simple joy of getting a rise out of the other. Such a fine example of sibling love.
"Here." Figuring the younger could use a little help, I handed her the pine cone. "Go throw it at him."
Her eyes sparkling, both feet clumping, she ran out the door with a giggle.
Revenge is sweet.