Pass the butter

I made some french peasant bread to go with dinner tonight. It's brushed with butter twice, so my little bowl of butter was sitting on the counter with the pastry brush waiting for the bread to come out of the oven. I was holding Will and fixing food. When I turned around he had the brush in his hand (he had just dipped it in the butter), and was running into the living room as fast as he could. He saw that I saw him so he went even faster. I ran into the living room yelling stop (you know, that's where the nicer furniture is), and he was painting the table as fast and as hard as he could. From what I could tell, that was his third trip in there to paint. When I came in he screamed and ran out. He always knows when he's doing something naughty, but he just can't help himself. Argh. The "terrible two's" seem to last a lot longer than a year.