Why I am a bad mother

(with due respect to the Parenting chick)

After we picked up our tickets at the Day Out with Thomas, we began making the rounds: first the petting zoo, then the bounce house, then we came to a booth where they were applying temporary Thomas tattoos. The kids and I stood in line for those, while we sent Tommy to hold a place in line to get your picture taken with Sir Topham Hatt. Faith got a Thomas tattoo on her hand, while Eric got a Percy.

Well, it wasn't 20 minutes later when Eric forgot about his tattoo and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Half of Percy scraped off. Heartbroken tears ensued.

I could have gone back with him and stood in line for another tattoo. I seriously considered it. But I figured if they're so fragile, the new one will probably deteriorate pretty quickly, too. Definitely be gone by bathtime that night. Was it really worth going back and standing in line another fifteen or twenty minutes, just for him to go through losing it all over again? Wouldn't it be better, I asked myself, to get him through the loss now and not have to deal with it again? Well, that's what I decided. And, of course, more than three days (and baths) later, Faith's Thomas tattoo is still on the back of her hand. And every time I see it I feel guilty for not going back and getting another one for Eric. (Stupid stubborn tattoo of Faith's. And if hers has stayed on so long, why the heck did his rub off so easily?)