Not a good day for fabric

Earlier this week in a pique of motherly love, I bought my girls some treats from Noa Noa: some tights for Buffy, and a top for Katie. Katie has worn it every opportunity since. She even wore it today when she was colouring... and thinking... and itching... and scratching. She scratched that indelible black pen right on her brand-new, sky-blue, lace-edged top. I was livid. Absolutely through-the-roof angry. I was so angry, in fact, I had to walk around the block to cool down. I came back in to reassure her I really did love her more than the top. Then I ate some food to stabilise my blood sugar and everything was happy again.

This evening I was nit-combing my way through Buffy's now-luxurious locks (no nits, hooray!) when Katie stomped downstairs, "Buffy drew on my bed!" She could well have added, "Again!" Naughty Buffy, always drawing on things. I wish I could be like the Casson family and give her a wall to decorate, but I'm not. I prefer she colour on paper. So does Katie.

I half suspected something was up when she came down with both hands and one cheek tattooed in swirls and squiggles. She explained she had just found the pen and had done it just before coming downstairs. I confiscated the pen and told her to wash up. She'd only done it to herself, so that was that. I guess I was wrong. (Again!) I know realise she had been in bed covering herself in ink and had inadvertently made a mark on Katie's sheets. How do I know? It's all in what she wrote on Katie's bed:

"Sorry"