Painting of the Pumpkins

Today, Jones was finally able to paint his pumpkin.

I'm not sure he or Freddie have ever enjoyed anything more, and in spite of the MESS that the made of our front walk, they were having so much fun - and not fussing with each other - that I just left them to it, until, finally, I HAD to intervene, lest they get paint on a place (ie. the brick or his beloved wooden bench) that their daddy would never forgive.

Just after they started painting, Freddie got paint on his finger. He showed it to Jones, who good naturedly said, "Ohhhhhhh, Brother." To be honest, though, Felix ended up covered in his fair share of paint, too, and shockingly, he didn't seem bothered by it one itty bit.

I'd thought about giving them baths, but then Jeremy called to say he was on his way home to pick us up, so we could drive him to the Nissan dealership to pick up his car. I changed my plans then - telling the boys to just strip down in the front yard, so I could spray them off with the hose.

I tried to have them cleaned up before Jeremy got home, as I knew he'd not like my strategy one bit. But I misjudged the time and was spraying two silly-giggling little guys when their daddy pulled up to the curb and hung out the window, saying, "Put some clothes on them."

I felt like Fraulein Maria when Captain von Trapp discovered that his children had been "roaming around Salzburg" wearing curtain clothes. Like Maria, I shuffled the boys in and got them dressed and backout the door before you could sing through the a chorus of "Edelweiss."

Later in the day, they went out to paint again. As he'd done in the morning, Jones painted his pumpkin ONLY red. I offered other colors, but no. Red.

Freddie's pumpkin, in contrast, looked like a Jackson Pollack painting.

I think there are some insights into their different personalities wrapped up in that little tidbit.

Also, Arby's? Freddie Pressley loves you.