Getting My Paint On

I've figured something out. It's much better to be the second child, than the first. Hannah tells me Mommy would have never let her do many of the things Mommy lets me do. Take painting, for example. Would Mommy have popped out the paints and paint brushes with Hannah at the ripe old age of 15 months? No way. But you see, now, when Hannah paints, it's either listen to me scream and wail or hand me a brush and let me get my paint on. And that's what I did...literally. I got my paint on...on my tummy, on my hands, in my hair, on my mouth, and yes, even in my mouth. Not to mention, on the chair, on the table, on the floor and some did actually make it on the paper. And consequently, after the masterpiece mayhem, it also got on the tub, since that was the only suitable place to rinse me off. Was it fun? Totally. Was it worth it? You bet. Am I envious of the next Harman child...you better believe it.