A friend of mine came over the other day to help me bake pies for Thanksgiving. She brought her son to keep Grace entertained while we were elbow-deep in apples. The arrangement was working well when Brad came home and went to Grace's room to claim his welcome home hug. I heard him laugh while I sat at the table, peeling an apple in one long spiral. It was a nice moment: enjoying his big belly laugh while making pie... It was also a brief moment because then I heard him ask, "Uh, Grace, why did you and Trey take off your clothes?" My friend rushed from the table to no doubt reclothe her little imp, while I was still musing over whether Grace had merely taken her shirt off or stripped all the way to her diaper. She had, in fact, stripped entirely. And she had apparently persuaded her little friend to do the same (he was not quite yet entirely nude).
If my life were a book, my English training would prompt me to view this incident as a foreshadowing. Happily, my life is not a book. Which means this occurrence is not evidence of neglectful parenting, nor an indication of problems she will have as a teenager.