I've been a painting fiend.  What started out as changing the bathroom from YELLOWWWWW to yel-low has evolved into me walking around the house with a paint brush in hand, touching up this and painting all of that. 

Unable to step away when I was still ahead, I started to paint the nasty back of the front door with the wall paint.  Now before you painters get all up in arms, the lazy ass people who sold Derek did the exact same thing.  Which of course makes it right.  And yes I would jump off the Brooklyn Bridge if someone told me to do it. 

Well the paint was looking pretty rank.  Derek was in the basement having a drywall incident and Ethan was wailing every time D started to drill.  Frankly I didn't care because after all this work around the house, the back of my front door is going to look like a group of kindergarteners had at it.  Failing to notice that Ethan's wailing and gnashing of teeth had been silenced, I turned around to find my offspring painting the hardwood floors with the roller brush.  And from the looks of it, he had been at it for quite some time.  He managed to paint his feet as well.  

It's all about the latex.  I barely resisted the urge to take a picture because I think my husband would have divorced me if he caught me going click, click, click when the floor was white as snow.  In a moment of panic, Derek threw me wet paper towels and then carted the boy off for his hose down.  Because 9 hours of painting wasn't enough, I then spent 10 minutes trying to unpaint.    Can't this kid's parents keep him under wraps?