A Little Paint, a Little Water

I was up to my eyes in paint by two o’clock that afternoon. Fixing up the old house was a long process, probably strung out between a hundred Saturdays. So I cracked open that can of orange paint, flavored with a little 1970s, and got rolling on the boys’ room.

Meanwhile, in the 70s temps, my three boys spent a few hours between Target and Nana’s and Papa’s. It felt better than spring. So before they departed for the afternoon, Puck found it necessary to turn on the garden hose and spray his brother with an early Saturday bath. Yali was not a fan.