flying crayon.

After sobbing profusely for what seemed like years, Marnie finally quieted. She had just been punished for drawing, for the second day in a row, on the white wall with a deep purple crayon. Today there was an encore performance which covered the little green desk, the entirety of the maple coffee table and my latest crewel project. I sat down beside her and asked why she did not learn her lesson after yesterday's wall art punishment? 'It wasn't me. The Purple crayon really wanted to fly up to the wall and I said NO! My Mommy will give me a spanking if you do that! But she wouldn't listen and just went crazy.' With that she looked down at her knees and slowly shook her head from side to side as if befuddled by the crayon who would not listen to her. How could her favorite color do her so wrong?