We’ve been in the middle of finishing a basement for more months than I care to think about, but we finally made it to painting. I’m so overjoyed I yanked my kids out of bed early on Saturday to get to work. They came along just fine and actually worked really hard for hours, rolling gallon after gallon of paint on the ceiling and walls.

At noon, my little redhead comes to me holding his stomach like he’s about to die. “Can’t we at least go eat lunch?”

“Fine.” I’m not that mean of a slave driver, though I had no desire to stop and eat myself.

I keep working, oblivious to the passing time. More than two hours later I finish up another room and realize I’m the only one still in the basement. I march upstairs to find my three kids lounging on the couch.

“Guys! What are you doing? Why didn’t you come back down?”

Without missing a beat, my youngest says, “Dad didn’t go back down.”

“Your dad had a meeting to go to,” I said.

“Then…” He looks around at his older siblings but they keep their eyes averted. “…we’re still at lunch.”

I purse my lips. “For more than two hours?”

“Yeah, I might get a tummy ache if it’s not fully digested.”

“What?” I shouldn’t have laughed, but I couldn’t help it. That little boy can come up with some crazy excuses to avoid work. And yet, back to work they always go. 😉