A couple of weeks ago, I painted (Joe's) room. He decided to "help" me. I thought I had secured the lid on the paint can -- of course not, not to a three-year old's standard anyway. He took the paint and poured it into the pan, put the roller together and rolled the bathtub blue. My friend Kelli was over and she said it sounded like a sitcom mom yelling her kid's name! He was alone (literally) for 5 minutes, for Pete's sake. The ironic thing is that while he was upstairs, I called him. "Joe, you had better not be in your room." He responded with something. A beat later, I said, "Come to the top of the stairs. I want to SEE you." Kelli laughed at me! I saw him and figured everything was fine. *Sigh* Anyway, he got paint dribbles and patches and splotches all over his carpet, naturally. It was definitely a "wait-til-your-father-gets-home" moment. For a few days afterward, Joe would randomly say, "I am not donna do dat adain."
And a sweet Kaity story from May 2008 ...
Kaity and I walked downtown this afternoon on an errand. I was encouraging her to keep walking, not to stop constantly, and this was her reply: "But my heart belongs in nature and I just can't help it!"
Later on the walk, she composed this poem while continuing to add to her nature collection:
Every minute stooping down,
to pick a leaf up off the ground.
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