“Mama, that boy won’t let me play in the tunnel.” The princess is frowning, hands on hips. We’re standing amid a sea of shoe boxes. I’m in the local shoe store picking out tap shoes for the princess to wear to dance class this fall. “What boy?” I’m asking because both of her brothers are outside the store with my husband. The princess points in the direction of a sandy-haired boy in an orange shirt who looks to be about three years old. He’s planted himself stubbornly in the middle of a plastic tunnel that the shop owner smartly included in his decor to keep kiddies busy. “Just try to go make friends,” I say, quickly choosing her size in the color tan. She walks toward the boy and I listen.
Her reappearance prompts an announcement from the boy. “This is my tunnel and no other kids are allowed, mostly girls!” I hear the princess gasp, obviously mortally offended.

I’m about to intercept this exchange, when I hear the store door open. Then, slap, slap, slap on the carpet, and a deep little voice chanting “DID IT, DID IT, DID IT!”

‘WHO IS THAT BIG BABY?” The sandy haired boy is staring. It’s the princess’ baby brother, who just started walking three days ago. The boy steps out of the plastic tunnel to face baby brother. They are almost the same height. The boy tugs his mother’s sleeve and whispers, “Mommy, that’s the biggest baby I have ever seen.” His mother smiles.

Baby brother climbs into the tunnel and the princess scoots inside behind him, sticking her tongue out at the sandy-haired boy.