Don't Paint Your Chickens Before They Hatch. A True Story in Rhyme.

There are two little girls, each five years old. Isabella is imaginative, Ally is bold.

"We want to paint!" together they cry
"Ok", says Isabella's mother, "let's set you up outside."

"Now, the rules are simple," says Isa's mother, "the paint is for the paper, not your clothes or each other."

They nod at the orders they are not to ignore, then it's off to paint the sun, a house, and red monsters galore!

The mother then says, "Girls, the baby needs a nap. I must take him in, but I'll be back in a snap. Remember no silliness, paint your hearts out!  You will make masterpieces-- that I don't doubt!

But as the mother rocks the baby to sleep, Isabella is at the door, ready to weep.
"She painted my shirt, " she says in distress. A nap interrupted. A problem to address.

"Did you paint her shirt?"
"Yes, " Ally says with contrition.
"Well, it's a good thing it's washable, let's clean it up in the kitchen."

The mother turns to leave, a woman on a mission, as second confession slips out--
"And we painted the chicken!"

"You painted the chicken?!" this time, the mother distressed.
"Is it true Isabella? What Ally confessed?"
"Yes! We painted some feathers, and even its beak!" The giggles slip out. The mother can't speak.

"You can't...you didn't... who's idea was it?"
"Isabella's!" Ally declares, the accusation legit.

A mother befuddled; a parenting scenario, (surely) unwritten. What does one do when their kid paints the chicken?