I’m on the phone telling my boss my ideal return-to-work scenario includes a component of working (with the subtext of said work being completed productively and uninterruptedly (shut.up. it is a word)) from home and I turn around to check on the children:
Cue: gutteral laugh only a two year old is capable of

Apparently slipping over in paint is ‘a little bit owie’

In case you didn’t know, it came from this whole basket of goodness some idiot had moved from the cupboard in the laundry no-one ever looks in to an open-wire basket in full view of idle minds.

Paint evweewhere.
In case you’d missed it.

This would be the wire baskets I had washed down, made cardboard base liners for (and badly cut across one of my knuckles in doing so) and packed with craft materials, colouring-in books, homework materials and so on.
All painted so beautifully.

I’m still finding footprints.

and handprints

it was our own re-enactment of Psycho.