Harper was exactly 1 week old when I took a picture of her holding her very first paint brush. Kyle took it to work and labeled the picture "the Tiniest Artist." It was such a sweet little thought when she laid there, sleeping, not moving, not disturbing the natural order of things---she was an artist in theory, and that was perfect. Sure, there was paint on the brush. Sure, she was capable of moving. The beautiful thing was that she did not. We captured this image and we fancied the little girl an artist. That was until she actually became an artist. Harper is a very independent child; not rebellious, or a trouble maker...just independent. Maybe we have taken that for granted because we allow her to have her freedom without watching like army generals over their soldiers. Today I learned that people change...even children...The child that we could once allow to play quietly in the play room without suspecting foul play now must be doubted. The child that we once gave an loaded paint brush to with reckless disregard must be patted down at every door way. The once lovely theory of Harper the Artist has now become the nightmare reality of Harper the Vandal. Our livingroom wall became the target of the child prodigy. At least I can say that she choose blue in order to match the blue walls. She has always had an eye for "matching." I should have suspected something when she came to me while I was cooking dinner asking for a "napkin with a little bit of water on it." I did suspect a little something marginal, but never would I suspect the mural I encountered. I didn't even really know how to respond. I shook my head and slowly gathered all of her ammunition and sent her quietly to Time Out. I mean, what am I supposed to do when I'm the one who gave her her first paint brush and proudly labeled her an artist?
