Being a parent is like inviting the Universe to deliver tornado slaps across my face.   Sure, based on my prior experience, I expected my daughter to fall in love with stickers. However, in a case of proving that each child is her own individual, my girl lodges herself firmly to stickers, like the static electricity that jolts you after you touch the doors at Bird Paradise, shaking all your senses awake.   Yesterday, she flew into a murderous rage, and it took me some time to realise that she was demanding for stickers to decorate her tiny legs. Did she think that she would be featured as a mini human on Humans of New York? Beats me but her addiction is real. In a daze, I think I just conveniently took a sticker off my son’s book and gave it to her. I was playing with fire but thankfully, he didn’t get triggered.
This morning, I was more than prepared for her hissy fit. I had combed my belongings for stickers, and suddenly, all those stickers I had absentmindedly strewn across my papers turned into gems overnight. To the extent that they deserved to be encased in my Kumamon shrine!  
Since I was prepared, the hissy fit never materialised because she literally woke up to the sight of stickers dazzling her sight. Then, it was a simple case of giving her much-needed space while I tried to put her school uniform on her. My ear drums were on cloud nine. Silence is bliss.   
She ambled off to school, flaunting her quirky sticker legs. (Now, that is a sentence I never thought I would write!) And I learnt an important lesson: always have the discipline to declutter my stuff because I never know where the Universe is hiding my antidote for a disastrous morning!