When I was a kid we had a sandbox in our backyard. I would construct fortifications and build entire towns from upside-down cups, and populate them with Star Wars figures and Adventure People. Then I'd drag out the garden hose and drown them all in a torrential flood. As C-3PO and Chewbacca's screams were muffled by the collapsing town, I'd pick their sand-caked bodies out of the sludge, rinse them off, and set them aside while the sandbox drained, and I prepared my next disaster.
This must be where my daughter gets it from.
Our delightful, well-mannered daughter does not build things. She tears them down. We've moved our floor plant into our bedroom now that all the lower leaves have been torn off. The morning paper is shredded in an explosion of crinkling confetti. And the toys...don't even get me started on the toys.
Our new favorite game is Daddy teaching her to stack blocks or cups to build a tower. It goes something like this:
"Look Cheeky. I've stacked one...two...three...four cups together. Watch how I do it."
Karate chop! The cups scatter. I fetch them.
"Let's try it again. See how fun it is to build? One...two..."
Arm swipe cuts through the middle of the pyramid. The cups scatter. I fetch them.
"Oh no! Ka-Pow! So fun! You did it! Now, let's try to stack them again. Boys destroy things, but pretty girls like you want to build them and make them pretty, right?"
Cheeky grabs a cup, looks up at me, smiles, and sling-shots it so far across the room that I can still hear it rolling under the dining room table and into the den a minute later.
Is this the new face of destruction and chaos? Believe it!