Captain Mom’s Log: Week 4: Day 25
A fresh gale tore through the front yard today upheaving our canvases. I knew it was windy before we set out, but I put “painting outside” on the schedule and, by God, we were going to paint!
“I don’t want to paint in the wind,” whined the voice of a boy who’s been allowed one too many television shows this week.
“It will be fine,” I ran inside to grab reinforcements. Not sure who I was really trying to convince.
Frog tape did the trick. With canvases anchored to plywood boards and palette paper taped to the sidewalk (I was sure HOA wouldn’t mind) we set to work.
I invited our next-door inhabitant to paint with us. She stayed on her patio, us on ours. Nothing like painting with friends 20 feet apart in strong wind.
“I made the feet too fat,” cried the novice painter.
“Oh! But you can just repaint them. Paint is so forgiving. You just wait for it to dry and then layer and...”
But Chief Mate was done painting. He was already whacking trees with his favorite stick. A regular pastime. I covered said fat squirrel legs with white so he could try again later.
It was starting to get cold.
Next-door inhabitant didn’t complain when the wind lifted dead limbs from the trees and sent them sailing. We laughed at the ridiculousness of ourselves.
“You won’t ever trust me to pick an activity again, will you?” I sighed.
“It’s just what I needed,” she said.
“Me, too.”
END TRANSMISSION
“I don’t want to paint in the wind,” whined the voice of a boy who’s been allowed one too many television shows this week.
“It will be fine,” I ran inside to grab reinforcements. Not sure who I was really trying to convince.
Frog tape did the trick. With canvases anchored to plywood boards and palette paper taped to the sidewalk (I was sure HOA wouldn’t mind) we set to work.
I invited our next-door inhabitant to paint with us. She stayed on her patio, us on ours. Nothing like painting with friends 20 feet apart in strong wind.
“I made the feet too fat,” cried the novice painter.
“Oh! But you can just repaint them. Paint is so forgiving. You just wait for it to dry and then layer and...”
But Chief Mate was done painting. He was already whacking trees with his favorite stick. A regular pastime. I covered said fat squirrel legs with white so he could try again later.
It was starting to get cold.
Next-door inhabitant didn’t complain when the wind lifted dead limbs from the trees and sent them sailing. We laughed at the ridiculousness of ourselves.
“You won’t ever trust me to pick an activity again, will you?” I sighed.
“It’s just what I needed,” she said.
“Me, too.”
END TRANSMISSION
"Squirrel Walking Into Forest" by Eli
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