I’m no painter, but I could watch the late Bob Ross do his thing on TV for hours.

There’s something about that enormous hair, a portrait created in minutes, and life insights quietly gleaned while caressing a canvas.

I recently shared one of Ross’s more worn sayings with my kids after we stumbled onto an episode of The Joy of Painting. You’ve probably heard it.

We don’t make mistakes. We make — wait for it – happy accidents. Ross used the phrase a lot after loading his brush with the wrong color or forming an ill-placed rock or tree.

My teen and preteen daughters weren’t feeling the little life lesson – or wanting to watch PBS reruns with Dad on a Sunday.

“Can we change it?” our 14-year-old asked.

Whatever. Ross’s lesson has meaning for me – and more so the older I get.

The last few months were a lot for our family of eight. We moved to a new home. Two of our kids changed schools. Our 4-year-old started preschool. I started a new job. We welcomed a new addition, our sixth, who came in at a whopping six pounds in October.

And don’t get me started about prepping for the holidays with six kids.

Cue the Brady Bunch jokes. My wife and I wouldn’t blame you. We have a child at every stage of childhood: infant, toddler, preschooler, elementary schooler, middle schooler and soon-to-be high schooler.

Barbies and clothes are strewn around our place in perpetuity. The runny noses never end. I can’t keep track of all the slang words our older ones bring home or all the sporting events we caravan to throughout the week.

We wouldn’t have it any other way. But here’s the problem: Every child is different, and there’s no definitive manual for teaching – let alone raising – a small herd of humans.

This reality was one of the hardest parts of my job as a high school English teacher years ago, and it’s become one of the most challenging realities I’ve faced as a dad. What works for Sally doesn’t work for John, and what works for John doesn’t work for Suzie.

With six kids, our playground for making mistakes has expanded. So has the occasional parental guilt. More than a few times my wife and I have discussed – OK, confessed – how we misjudged, mishandled, misunderstood, misapplied, mistook or straight up missed the broader painting when it comes to raising kids.

Sorry, Bob – all mistakes.

I recently lost track of our 2-year-old at our daughter’s basketball game. He wasn’t in the gym. He wasn’t in the hall. When I feared he may have slipped through the outside door, my daughter’s friend showed up with him on her hip.

They were playing just outside the gym door by the cafeteria, she assured me.

I thanked her. Then I badgered myself.

What if he’d found his way to the parking lot or – maybe worse – the bathroom toilets?

But here’s a confession: I didn’t think of Wise Old Bob’s advice about happy accidents at the time. I wish I had because I probably would have focused on how I could avoid losing Little Houdini next time instead of feeling embarrassed and anxious about it.

I’ll make that a goal for the next happy accident – along with getting my kids to watch a full episode of The Joy of Painting with me.

Happy accidents, friends.

Send your parenting stories or tips to devin@idahoednews.org. We can always use them.