Yesterday, I turned off the light in the basement and closed the door. My kids seem to have a difficult time doing that themselves. About ten seconds later, I heard a voice from behind the closed door. "Hey, open the door," it said. Of course, the voice belonged to Jack. Bridget opened the door, and said, "Jack, where did you get that ?" "What?" I asked. Then Jack emerged, muffin tin filled with yellow paint, in hand. He didn't spill a drop, and when I went to the basement to investigate, the bottle of yellow tempera was sitting on top of the chest freezer, with nary a drip to be seen.