Abort, abort
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This evening my two daughters, ages four and six, set out with me for some grocery shopping. We made it into the store, returned some pop cans, and were on the way through the cosmetics department to find the firelogs when I turned and discovered my older daughter happily colouring on her younger sister's face with a lipstick sampler.
I turned the shopping cart around, gathered up the kids, and we went home. Sometimes it's just the wrong time.
(I returned—alone—to buy the groceries after the kids went to sleep. I came back to the house just before midnight, by which time things were pretty calm.)







