Clean Up In Aisle 4
Oh boy, I am in trouble. Again.
Yesterday was help watch the grandchildren day. Which means, if there is any time, even a sliver of a second, where I am the only adult supervision in the room, disaster is but an errant thought away.
Things went swimmingly for a while. Then my wife slipped into town for a moment, my son was otherwise engaged and so I was the one with my hand in the air chosen to accompany my granddaughter to the basement to paint.
Everything was in its place, brushes here, paper there and the colors of the rainbow neatly gathered, each in their own little plastic container. It made for a beautiful picture. But not as wonderful as the one soon to be created.
One color in, and the outline of a heart appeared. Another, and there was life inside the heart.
But, me being me, I cannot leave well enough alone and in short order there was a Salvador Dali of issues on a table that had earlier been as pristine as newly fallen snow.
For some inexplicable reason I thereafter abandoned my post and headed upstairs to the kitchen, leaving a two year old and five year old to their imaginations and the distinct possibility of painting me into the corner.
The text from my daughter at 10:31 last evening read: "Guys, paint goes on a pallet and then use a brush to apply it to paper."
My response was as follows: “I cannot tell a lie. It was George Washington. "
Clean up in aisle 4.