So, Kaylee, my oldest had been pestering me for a tattoo.  “Not a big tattoo, mom, just a little one!”  This all transpired shortly after her 17th birthday.  “I don’t want like a tramp-stamp, I want something like a shamrock on my ankle”  (appealing to her father and his Irish heritage.  Yep, that would normally work – smart kid!)

Mostly our reaction was “No…You can do that sorta thing when you are 18.”  Or, “Why would you want to mark up your body?  If you want to get a job in the medical field, you should’t have a tattoo.”

We figured the whole idea would wear off but it didn’t.  I can compare it to when she was like 4 and the ice cream truck would cruise down the street.  Eventually you just give in.

So about 6 months later, Shane decided to go ahead and sign the consent form and take her for the Celtic Shamrock tatto on the ankle.  He became elevated to “The Best Dad EVER!” (you know, despite not understanding anything that she ever said, felt, wanted since becomming a teen.  Isn’t it funny how all that ‘hate’ they have for you turns to ‘love’ when they really really want something?)

So they went to All Tattoos in Strongsville after quite a bit of research on all our parts to find somewhere that was sanitary and took the proper precautions so that we didn’t end up with a kid spouting Hepatitis and endless co-pays for it.   (We all know how hard it is to come up with those endless co-pays!)

The artist called her name.  It was her turn!  She followed him into the room and turned to ask her dad if he was coming in with her.

Shane said,  “No,  you wanted to do this, you can do this by yourself, I’ll just sit out here.”  And then when she was in the room… he added from across the room…. “If he tells you to take your pants off… leave… you don’t have to take your pants off to get a tattoo on your ankle!”

(You know, there’s never NOT a good moment to embarass your teenager)