It all started out innocently enough. Britton wanted to do some fingerpainting. Sure, that's fine, I want to encourage creativity and all that jazz. So I leave her side for a couple of minutes to wash some dishes, not five feet away, and return to Britton painting herself.
She explained that she needed to paint her hands in order to get handprints. How else is she going to do handprints? That's fine. I warn her not to touch anything but the paper. Not the table, not the window, not the chairs, nothing. And then the inevitable "this is a murder scene" paint spill happens...
But I'm playing it cool because it's washable paint and it was an accidental. We get it cleaned up, then Britton is back to painting. Her legs. It seems that at this point the easel next to her is simply there for decoration.
And that's how we do fingerpainting in this house!
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