My son Arie, ever the stickler for details and accuracy

[janradder]

This afternoon Arie pulled out an easel in front of our house, got together paints, brushes and paper and proceeded to attempt a painting in front of our house.  I say attempted, because for the first twenty minutes or so he loudly yelled and hollered and otherwise made  a scene over each tiny problem he encountered.  The wind was blowing.  The paper had slightly torn.  He wanted to tape the edges to keep the wind from blowing the paper but the tape was in the house.  The tape had fallen to the ground and gotten dirt on it.  The paint brush was not working.  The paint was not working.  The paint was the wrong color.  The colors were mixing on the paper.  And so on.  After hearing quite possibly the twentieth sigh or grunt of disgust (which I really only have myself to blame for hearing since he was only mimicking me) I suggested that he put the paints and easel away because he certainly was not having any fun.

"I will not put away the paints and the easel.   What do you think I am doing?"

"It sounds to me like you're complaining," I said.

"No I am not," Arie replied.  "I am complaining and painting!"