I finally got around to painting baseboard yesterday afternoon. I planned on doing another coat, so I left the paint outside next to the boards. It was a completely full gallon of paint when I started the project.
Before dinner, things got a bit hairy while I finished up dinner and shooed my scout boys out the door to their pack meeting. Steve and Josh were about to leave when Joshua pokes his head in the door to tell me that Libby is outside. Lovely. Someone had left the back door open and she had escaped. I sent Sarah out to supervise her until dinner. Libby wasn't in the backyard; she was out front. I ran out to get her myself and discovered what she had been up to.
Libby was "helping."
She found a paintbrush and went outside to paint baseboard for me. Three or four sticks had fresh paint slopped onto the ends and the paint can had been tipped over and the lid knocked free. Half a gallon of paint was dumped into the grass. It was at this point that I started to worry about what she looked like.
Covered in paint is what she looked like. It was on her hands, her feet, her shirt . . . and on her best jeans. the adorable ones with the embroidery on the right leg. They are ruined, of course.
I feel so "helped."