I'm not sure who is more--my son or me.
Last night, his favorite toy in the whole world, along with a couple of other things, were stolen. The toy that he took to church, the library, the grocery store--THAT toy. He loved it so much--he even inscribed his name in red crayon on it. This is quite special, as he only recently learned how to write his whole name. (Just yesterday I was cleaning and I picked it up and ran my fingers over his name, and a warmth filled my heart. I had decided that it would be something we put in a box to treasure forever, long after he outgrew it...)
I am even more saddened because last night his innocent, care free world turned into something a bit darker. It's now a place where he has tasted that there are people in this world that do bad things, and that those things can hurt him deeply.
I wish I could keep his world untarnished forever, keep it a place where people only love him and no one can hurt or harm him. So, this is a lesson for me too, I suppose. That the only way he can deal with life's bumps and bruises is to actually have and experience those bumps and bruises.
Anyway, here is the only picture ( suprisingly! ) that I have of him with his little wooden dagger.
Oh, and guess what he had to say about all of this--after the tears.
"Maybe he (talking about whoever stole it) just needed to be Robin Hood."