Reed
The old Wendy would have immediately directed him to the nanny or confined the mess strictly to the playroom.
The new Wendy, however, had practically sprinted to the craft closet.
Now, the coffee table was buried under construction paper, glue, acrylic paints and a suspiciously large pile of real dirt William had smuggled in from the garden.
I was sitting on the floor with my back resting against sofa, my legs stretched out to make a barrier so the dirt wouldn't spill onto the floor.
I was officially on machinery duty, tasked with using the heavy-duty shears to cut the thick cardboard base.
"The Triceratops needs a river." William explained very seriously. His small fingers was covered in blue finger paint. He smeared a wobbly line across the bottom of the cardboard box. "Becau
