Tim: Mom, come look at my drawing.
Me: I'm sewing on your Boy Scout patches.
Tim: Where would Van Gogh have been if his mother hadn't put down her knitting to look at his paintings?
Me: Van Gogh wasn't a Boy Scout, was he?
The baby cries. I put down my sewing. Ainsley and I admire Tim's artwork. While he's done a fine job, somehow the life cycle of the mosquito doesn't conjure up the wheat fields of France.