Monday, November 19, 2012

Confessions from a Craft School Dropout, Slacker Mom

So Will came home with a "pilgrim" project a while ago:  he had all week - maybe it was two? - to fashion a little pilgrim out of a clothespin type thing, representing a country from which some of his ancestors emigrated.  I thought, yay!  Easy!  I've got a good bit of Inuit in me (that's Eskimo, you mainlanders), so Will drew a face on his clothespin, we glued on some cotton balls for a fur coat and hood, and boom!  Pilgrim's Progress.  Done.

Apparently I did not read in the tea leaves of this project's instructions that you - that's YOU, mama - are actually supposed to fashion a doll you could find at a toy museum.  Or maybe you are supposed to outsource your child's pilgrim project to a firm in Plymouth that specializes in crafting perfectly despicably delightful clothespin dolls.  Because today we had to attend a little Thanksgiving lunch for the first graders, and the entire hallway was lined with tables sporting the most ridiculously intricate, adorable little pilgrim people:

 Holy shizer you all.
There were tables like this set outside every single first grade classroom.  It was like walking down a hallway of the hotel in "The Shining" for me - ye gads, you all.  What a nightmare.

Scary scary stuff
At first I felt just horrified at my lack of maternal oversight - erm, TAKE-oversight - on this project.  In fact, it would never even OCCUR to me to work this hard on a kiddie art project.  So what am I missing?  Some basic maternal instinct?  A total disregard of my children's ability to get into Stanford or Harvard?  So much thought, time and proximity to crafting materials - glue guns!  fabric scraps! Sharpies! - went into these precious baubles - why?  Why?

Dear friends, if you have the answer, please let me know, so that I might weigh this evidence against moments lost sipping Pinot Noir and watching edifying television.

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