And then I turn my back for a minute to start a load of laundry and - as if on cue - somebody gets bored using her markers in a coloring book, and suddenly my problem is solved.

I can't help but notice how well Sydney coordinated her masterpiece with the colors in her shirt. I also can't help but nervously wonder how I might react 16 years from now if our little rebel comes home sporting a similar look, courtesy of a tattoo artist.
And does she have to look so pleased with herself?
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