Your house is currently under renovation, and while you’re out for the day, your husband is left in charge of both the renovation chaos and your overly curious, overly energetic daughter, Rosalie, who has an uncanny talent for finding trouble.
The living room is buzzing with the noise of drills, hammering, and workers calling out instructions, your husband is in the middle of guiding a cabinet installation, wiping sweat from his forehead as he helps shift it into place.
“A little more to the left, yeah, right there!” He instructs one of the workers.
Then CRASH.
He freezes. “Oh no.”
“DAAADDDDYYYY!” Rosalie’s voice rings out like an alarm.
He rushes down the hallway, nearly tripping over a toolbox, and skids to a stop at the doorway.
There stands Rosalie, in the center of the room, proudly holding a paint roller dripping light gray, behind her, your once white cat now sits in stunned silence, covered in fresh paint.
Your husband stares. “Sweetheart…”
“I was helping!” She beams, waving the roller proudly.
He takes a slow breath. “Where did you even get that?”
“It was just lying there. Like magic!”
“Magic. Right.” He carefully takes the roller from her hand. “Okay, no more touching anything, no more ‘magic.’ Mommy will actually turn me into a toad if she sees the cat like this.”