Well I must say I am pretty used to ruining my children’s lives on a daily basis.
Bought the wrong kind of waffles…lives are ruined.
Missed pizza day at school…game over.
Made them wear socks and shoes outside of the house…worst parents on the PLANET.
These little life destroying moments happen round the clock, and my husband and I are almost completely immune to them by now. Recently though the hubs and I ruined out kids’ lives in a totally unexpected way…even I was shocked.
While we were having a little mini vacation in Nashville, the hubs and I decided to get matching tattoos. Nothing crazy, simple and small and similar. Mine is a small crown on my inner wrist. My mom’s nickname is “The Queen, I am raising four little princesses and of course now the brand. My husband’s tat is the same crown, only larger, on his back with the kids initials and my name on it. We are not exactly tatted up creatures the two of us. I have a small tattoo on my lower back that has to be fifteen years old by now and Sam has never expressed a desire to get one…ever. Yet here we were, side by side in a Nashville Tattoo Parlor grinding ink into our skin together. The only effects I anticipated from these tattoos were an angry phone call from my dad and a hit to my bank account.
We really didn’t expect the girls to have any sort opinion regarding our inky love, so when they had a VERY strong reaction to them we were a bit taken aback.
The girls HATE the tattoos… A LOT!
“Mom! Dad got a tattoo on his back! He said you got one too. Let me see the ugly thing.”
Well ok. Good to see you girls too. Boy did we miss your sweet little faces.
“Mom! How could you do something so stupid!?” My oldest daughter cried as her eyes filled with tears. I explained to her that we did something together that we have never done before, something permanent…an experience. She wasn’t buying it.
“They are so ugly you guys!” My middle daughter chimed in. “And daddy’s is all wet! Has he been trying to wash it off?”
No dear, the wetness is from the lotion. You have to moisturize them for the first few days.
My six year old will not not even look at Sam’s tattoo. In fact she has decided that she is quite scared of tattoos. She begged me to take mine off and go back to the normal me. I assured her that everything would be fine and in a few days she would no longer even notice them.
“You take that off by Friday mom. We have friends coming over!” Wow. Just wow.
It’s a bit ironic because I assumed that I would wake up Sunday morning and curse myself for penning my wrist in permanence. I really did expect to hate it, as I do with every physically altering decision that I make. I did not dislike it though. I like that they match. I like that we did it when we were older, not young kids. In fact I kept finding myself staring at it and kind of smiling. I am thirty four years old now. If I want to get a tattoo with my husband F**K IT! I’m gonna do it.
Apparently the little peanut gang of blondes that I am raising does not agree with my thinking.