How did he open the can, completely dunk the screwdriver in it, pour out a pint of paint, and re-close the can without getting so covered in paint we couldn’t HELP but know what he’d done?

Mommy: Ian, what happened here?
Ian: Well, I was just trying to make something.
Mommy: I have to leave the room.

Apparently this is what I get for letting the thought cross my mind (not my lips… I never tempted fate by uttering it aloud) that he doesn’t seem to get up to quite the mayhem he used to and that maybe he’s growing up. WRONG. He’s just learned to hide the evidence.

(In case you’re wondering, the paint was completely dry, so this apparently happened days ago.)