Category Archives: The Anti-Craft

Ode to Turning 6

Posted on May 30, 2010 | 13 Comments

Yesterday, Thing One and Thing Two turned 6.

Yes, that's ice on our patio table on May 29

It’s hard to believe it’s been half a dozen years since those two slime balls were pulled from my womb in a Bangkok hospital. It’s hard to believe it’s been six years since I called the night nurse at 4 a.m. and said, “Can you take them away?” And off they went for their first sleepover.

Yesterday, in honour of their birthday, the universe conspired and sent snow. Last year, my kids ran through sprinklers; this year, sledding was an option.

Still, if you care to read on, here are six highlights of our day:

  • We bought balloons. Vivian chose a pink “Happy Birthday” one. William’s choice had a giant “65” painted on it.

Retirement...from pre-school

“Are you sure you want one that says 65?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I was 5. Now I’m 6.”

  • William figured out he could attach the string of his balloon to his remote control quad and bang it into our ankles repeatedly.
  • Vivian spent two hours completing a stick-on mosaic butterfly. That craft could be a training ground for  brain surgeons and bomb disposal technicians. If it were me, I would have chucked the craft across the room after ten minutes of attempting to maneuver my barely-opposable thumbs. That’s me, the anti-crafter.
  • Vivian decapitated her Ken doll. Our landing looked like a crime scene. My husband thinks Ken bears an uncanny resemblance to Stephen Harper. I’m not sure if that comment is because he’s lost his head or not.

The Crime Scene

Rigormortis set in quickly

  • I made a cake. You may remember my previous baking episode. This time, my creation was a success, although carrying it to the table was nearly a natural disaster. With cake in hand, I tried to start singing Happy Birthday, but had a throat-clearing problem that made me sound tubercular. When I recovered, my husband imitated me until I was laughing so hard the candles were flickering. To this scene, add kids who are freaking out that mommy’s blowing out the candles and the stage is set for a catastrophe.

It ain't Martha Stewart, but it took fewer than 45 minutes

So, there it is. All in a day.

Happy Birthday, Thing 1 and 2. You make me happy. And you make me laugh.

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Posted in Lackluster Parenting, Slice of (My Psycho) Life, The Anti-Craft

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5 Reasons I Hate Crafts

Posted on April 9, 2010 | 37 Comments

I hate crafts. This is a problem given that my daughter is her own craft production factory. Thanks to her, we are first rate recyclers: paper, toilet paper rolls, and cereal boxes rotate from the craft table to the recycling bin with amazing fluidity. It might be cute if you’re a scrapbook person; if you’re not, it’s a nightmare.

Below, then, are 5 reasons I hate crafts.

Reason 1: Crafts Are Messy

Glitter was clearly invented by a child-free man or by a woman with a cleaning lady. I won’t even discuss the messiness of paint or Play-doh (though I will add that I know why Homer Simpson uses “Doh!” as profanity). And what is it with tiny hands that mean they must cut tiny pieces? When my son was three, one of his favourite tasks was taking a piece of construction paper, cutting it into microscopic pieces, and then using the hand-held vacuum to clean up a tenth of the mess.

Reason 2: My Finger Dexterity Sucks

I grew up in the 1980s, when small town fashion dictated that it was okay to wear several gold chains, all of which were as thick as a strand of baby hair. On my dresser every night, they’d weave into masses of knots, and I could not undo the mess. My father, a big man with bigger farm hands, could untangle them. It was then I realized I could never be a surgeon. Or Martha Stewart. Or a mom who’s good at crafts. For me, threading a needle is a whole morning’s work. Crafts? I know better. If you’re familiar with the kids’ show Mr. Dressup, I have the finger dexterity of Casey.

Check out the hands on Casey (the puppet in the middle)

Reason 3: Crafts Are Rarely Age Appropriate

Why is it that kids rarely attempt crafts that they can complete independently? For her fifth birthday, Vivian received a dream catcher kit. It required weaving a net, threading beads, gluing feathers, and more weaving. More recently, over Spring Breakdown, we went to a bookstore for activity time (evidently reading is not enough anymore). There had been a misprint in the newspaper. I thought I was taking my kids to an Olivia tea party, but instead I (and about twenty other irate parents) brought my kids to bracelet making, ages 8 and up. I spent 45 minutes swearing my way through one bracelet. The other one is still undone.

The Before Picture: you expect a 5yo (or me) to do a zipper weave?

The After Picture: "after" sweat and swearing

Reason 4: Memories of Unfinished Rug Hooks

I received more than a few rug hooks for Christmas presents in my childhood. I never finished one. I think I got up to the beak of a brown owl one, but no farther. And how many two inch pieces of wool did my mom end up vacuuming?

Reason 5: Memories of Cheating at Home Economics

I was one of those good students: I did my homework, applied what I learned, and didn’t cheat. Except in Grade 7 Home Ec. My mom watched me knit one slipper (painfully) that would have fit Shaquille O’Neal; satisfied that I knew the skill (barely), she knit the second one for me. I still remember the comment my teacher gave me: “You showed great improvement.” Indeed.

So, my dear children, I apologize for not doing crafts with you. Add it to the list of items to discuss with your therapist.

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Posted in A Therapy Moment, Lackluster Parenting, The Anti-Craft, Top 5 Fridays (or Wednesdays)

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Activities for Children of Lousy Parents

Posted on March 22, 2010 | 15 Comments

Let’s get things straight. I’m not a Martha Stewart mother, one of those women born to parent. I am neither willing nor able to build a replica of the Taj Mahal out of items from the recycling box.

In recent weeks, I’ve felt compelled to do something slightly more interesting with my children on Sundays because they have to write in their journals at school on Monday morning.

This is how I came to the decision to get off my butt on Sunday afternoons.

At a parent-teacher conference in January, William’s kindergarten teacher remarked, “He tends to write the same thing in his journal every week. But as his confidence increases, that will change.”

William's Journal. Turn the page 6 times, and read the same thing.

Of course, I am pretty sure this repetitiveness had little to do with Will’s confidence and a lot to do with the fact that I don’t do many interesting things with my kids.

This hypothesis was confirmed when I went to Vivian’s parent-teacher conference. One look through her journal revealed that she was making a lot of things up.  Yup, my five-year-old is writing fiction and passing it off as truth. “We made cookies. They were chocolate chip,” I read. Now, although my memory of day-to-day items is sketchy, I’m pretty confident I haven’t made cookies in about 18 months. Still, no need to disclose this fact to her teacher.

Fast forward to my epiphany: if I do something vaguely interesting each Sunday, William won’t have to repeat “I went sledding on a hill” for the entire school year, and Vivian won’t have to lie.

So, I’m trying. Over the past eight weeks, we’ve built a snowman, fed the horses, gone swimming, trekked to a new playground, and rolled pizza dough. It ain’t the Taj Mahal, but it’s something.

Once again, unbeknownst to them, those little cretins are making me a better person.

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Posted in Lackluster Parenting, Slice of (My Psycho) Life, The Anti-Craft

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