Juliet's nickname should be "Dash". In the time it took for me to put on earrings, Juliet ran from my bedroom to the office, grabbed a Sharpie, and scribbled on the couch.
At first glance, I saw the first cushion. I gasped.
Then I looked up.
I must have sat, shocked, for a few minutes. This couldn't have happened. I was putting on earrings! She was just with me! I'm hallucinating! Why me?! After quickly going through the five stages of grief, I consulted the internet. The consensus seemed to be rubbing alcohol.
After 5 hours of scrubbing, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and sore fingers, the couch looks pretty good. I figured our butts can take care of the rest.
This was actually a proud parent moment for me. I didn't yell at Juliet. I didn't even punish her. In fact, I calmly showed her her coloring books and explained that we color on paper. If anyone should have been punished, it was me for leaving the office door open (ok, and not watching her). Believe me, the punishment fit the crime.
"Every child is an artist." ~ Pablo Picasso