(no subject)
"Jimmy! Jimmy! I can't SEE. What's happening?"
"Andy ... you don't want to know."
"Tell me! I hear ... wetness."
"It's horrible. Tell my mamma I loved her."
Technicolor owl carnage is being wrought on my table, because on the one hand, she made them months ago out of salt dough; on the other hand, she decided she wanted them to be painted; and on the gripping hand she's home from school today because she had a high fever yesterday and we can't guarantee it's gone.
My plan is to try to keep mess to a minimum and attempt to get a few chores done if I can. But meanwhile, they SHALL be painted, no matter how woefully anticipatory their little owly faces are.
(and yes, Andy is hemibodied with a ragged margin, because of an unfortunate accident in the drying process)