Out of the palms of babes
I once read a green (Green?) pamphlet about twenty years ago which posed the question "What is the most dangerous animal on Earth?" Featured there were pictures of a lion and a shark and then inside the answer was revealed as a new-born baby (i.e. man). As Kimberley grows up and can reach items previously beyond the scope of her reach, I can fully comprehend the power of inquisitive, destructive hands. The combined might and genius of Julius Caesar, Hannibal, the Knights of St John on Malta and the entire British military machine under Queen Victoria were no match for my 15-month old toddler as they were wrenched from my bookcase to the floor, leaving them in a sorry state to be discovered by myself later on in the day. These were the lightest tomes on the second shelf but all contents were promptly evacuated faster than Aden once their vulnerability and Kimberley's designs were clear. The in-built book shelf closest to the door had been abandoned, in a manner not dissimilar to Agri Decumates (the part of the Roman Empire's Germania Superior province beyond the Rhine), months ago in the wake of similar depredations (not barbarian invasions but they might as well have been). Hopefully, by the time she can reach the third from bottom shelf, some maturity will have set in or at the very least violently decanting books from their resting place will have lost its cachet.
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