I'll think it's the best story, how I let you go to sleep in my spot last night so you wouldn't bug your sister. I moved you to your own bed, then lay down to find out what you'd been doing to my sheets (but only where you thought you could put a pillow down to cover it up):
And how as soon as my back was turned this morning, you took a crayon and colored on the chairs:
Someday, I'm sure I'll laugh. Maybe the day you become a famous artist and buy me a pink Cadillac (which I'll trade in immediately for something much classier, like, say, a Dodge Sprinter).
Or perhaps the day other parents start calling, asking me what they can do to help their children develop into famous artists like you. "I encouraged them over and over again to only color on paper," I'll say, "but such talent cannot be restrained."
Or maybe the day you get an art scholarship to a prestigious university and I can brag to all my friends, "Yes, she got her start right here in our humble home, decorating her walls:"
Or perhaps when the Sistene Chapel calls and wants the ceiling painted in their new addition, I'll feel a sense of pride, knowing that life in our family has uniquely prepared you for your calling in life.
Or when your famous art teacher tells me that she's never seen such a young prodigy.
Or when your colorful, inventive new toy wins "Best Toy of 2028"
Or maybe when you become the next Martha Stewart, designing colorful, imaginative new fixtures that brighten up everyone's home:
Or maybe I'm dreaming, and the only time I'll laugh is when your daughter does this to your walls, your toys, your sheets, your lamps, your life, and I think to myself, "revenge is sweet."
(note: most of the artwork above was done by Sarah in the last six months, but her partner in crime Allison is probably guilty of some of it.)
And how as soon as my back was turned this morning, you took a crayon and colored on the chairs:
Someday, I'm sure I'll laugh. Maybe the day you become a famous artist and buy me a pink Cadillac (which I'll trade in immediately for something much classier, like, say, a Dodge Sprinter).
Or perhaps the day other parents start calling, asking me what they can do to help their children develop into famous artists like you. "I encouraged them over and over again to only color on paper," I'll say, "but such talent cannot be restrained."
Or maybe the day you get an art scholarship to a prestigious university and I can brag to all my friends, "Yes, she got her start right here in our humble home, decorating her walls:"
Or perhaps when the Sistene Chapel calls and wants the ceiling painted in their new addition, I'll feel a sense of pride, knowing that life in our family has uniquely prepared you for your calling in life.
Or when your famous art teacher tells me that she's never seen such a young prodigy.
Or when your colorful, inventive new toy wins "Best Toy of 2028"
Or maybe when you become the next Martha Stewart, designing colorful, imaginative new fixtures that brighten up everyone's home:
Or maybe I'm dreaming, and the only time I'll laugh is when your daughter does this to your walls, your toys, your sheets, your lamps, your life, and I think to myself, "revenge is sweet."
(note: most of the artwork above was done by Sarah in the last six months, but her partner in crime Allison is probably guilty of some of it.)
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