How my kids convinced me to get my first tattoo on Mother’s Day

I never wanted a tattoo. The thought of a needle pushing ink into my skin made me squeamish. But when my three kids, all in their 20s, got matching shamrocks etched on their bodies to bond over their Irish heritage, I felt jealous. Even though I fed them bratwurst and sauerkraut, dressed them in lederhosen and dirndls, and danced the polka with them in the living room, they identified with their father’s lineage over mine. So, despite my contempt for tattoos, I made a bet with them. If they could...