She placed a series of pages near the edge before she placed a smallish box before me, and then another across the table where she took a chair. With the scent of wax on the air, I glanced uncertainly at the telltale marigold and green cardboard, and wondered that Crayola should once again wander into my life.

"We are coloring Halloween pictures today!" proclaimed she. I tried to conceal my grimace. I was encased in my depression at the time, and in no mood to play. Taking pity on her pleading eyes, wide and luminous, I withdrew a crayon.

Sounds of rubbing wax filled the room as we scribbled furiously on clean white pages. At the tumult, we waved our finished works and she pouted, "Yours is better! Mine stinks! Thanks a lot!" I huffed in frustration...what did the twerp want from me? This was her idea in the first place...what was I supposed to do?—draw a sucky picture?

No, I wasn't. You've got to nip these things. It will be important for her to know that life isn't a competition, it's about doing the best you can with the ability that you've got. I sat her down and smoothed her brow as I said, "Momma, grow up."