Yesterday morning, my favorite "three boy," who has recently gotten rid of most of his toys and was, I think, honestly just looking for something creative to do, had found some scissors and shredded a little book and some important papers of mine. Some time after we had cleaned up that mess, and I had chastised the boy for touching things that don't belong to him, I found him hiding in his room with a black marker (dry-erase, not permanent, thank goodness) writing all over his body and the floor. Before I could pull all of my hair out, Jeff suggested that Clay probably just needed a good, authorized art project. Since we are lacking in craft supplies, and since I'm not one of those super crafty moms that relishes a good art project anyway, I came up with something that worked within those parameters: "painting" with water in the garage. Clay loved it and spent the rest of the morning happily working on that project and staying out of trouble. They say "necessity is the mother of invention," but I'm just wondering why I couldn't have come up with that plan before so much destruction took place in the house.