Four years. I mean it, four years it’s been there, taunting me and I’ve not tweaked a corner, not fingered a single edge. Bits of decades old wallpaper have curled and frayed, exposing layers of other older wallpaper behind them, but I have not given in to temptation. Others have dared to poke a finger behind the yellowed paper, lifting and scraping, but the most I’ve done is pressed that same paper down, smoothing it out and leaving well enough alone. And then it happened. The girls were sitting, happily ensconced in PB&J on fresh sourdough, the bread halves opened and the gooey peanut butter and jam fast becoming a mask on their Saturday morning faces. I had, up until that very moment been…