Ok, so I wasn’t really kicked out. Mostly just sneered at….ok, so not exactly sneered at, but in my head that is totally what happened.

I went in there with my daughter to get stuff for a non-crafty project. I do not craft. Ok, not true…I can’t craft. It always turns ugly and messy. But, I immediately understood the look in my little girl’s eyes as we walked past rows of material festooned with unicorns, horses, rainbows, lolli-pops etc. She was literally spinning with possibilities. New blankets, new curtains, new couch covers (our living room sofa would ROCK if we re-upholstered in rainbow unicorns).

“Sorry babe, I’m not that kind of mom. I wish I were. We’re here to get some glitter and sharper scissors.”

I could tell she was a little sad.

I, of course, am about as lost at the fabric store as I am in the tool department of home depot (luckily, I’ve got connections for the latter). All of the cashiers knew it. I swear they could sense my non-craftiness a mile away. If it was Studio 54 in 1977, they never would have let me past the velvet rope.

But…I found the glitter (after asking 3 people).

Some of these are hoo-larious to me!)

Hug someone you love today

 Robin

I do not save all of my children’s artwork.

That’s right. I said it. I own it.

That does not mean I don’t appreciate it. Far from it. But, after a few years at this, here’s the system I’ve worked out. They bring it home. Their Dad and I LOVE it. I tape it up all over the kitchen. It stays there for a few weeks, then it’s on to the next crop. I can’t scrap book. Last year I scanned EVERYTHING they brought home on two disks and put them in our safe. I doubt either of them will ever ask for it. Ever. But…even that process took hours. I occasionally take digital pictures of some of their best work and blog it. That’s my scrapbooking. Also…our entire X-mas tree is decorated with all of the ornaments and holiday-themed artwork they’ve produced over the last 5 years. I’ve also permanently decorated my downstairs guest bathroom (the one where EVERYONE goes when they visit) with their stuff. I put it in glass frames. Every year or so, I switch out for new pieces. But…I don’t save it all. Can’t save it all. There’s too much.

If I ever doubted my resolve on this,  a couple of years ago, my parents moved out of my childhood home. While packing boxes, my mom asked me if I wanted my 5 year old handprints and a nursery school scrapbook of mine. I do not. I am at peace

Here is my version of scrapbooking…blog-style!

My son’s interpretation of a tiger.

Finally, my daughter….sledding.

So, what do YOU guys do w/ all of it?

Anyhoo…my son got a $5 Magic Dino kit from the toy store. Fake egg. Fake lava pit. Hot water.

The egg dissolves and erupts. Teeny tiny dinosaur is to emerge from the primordial ooze.

Total fun for a 7 year old boy, right? Aw yeah. We were doing fairly well with it. Usually these things end in a giant globby mess that bear no resemblance to the happy family fun portrayed on the box. This one though, this one worked.

Except for one thing…

Yesterday, I sliced my finger with a steak knife (whole ‘nutha story, but further proof of why I leave the cooking to the professionals).

In the annals of bad owies, I’d go 1.) childbirth 2.) broken toe (from that one time on my sister’s evil couch); 3.) cold water sprayed into the dry sockets left by my wisdom teeth; 4.) the time I accidentally, full-force sprayed shaving gel into my eye; and now…5.) fake dino lava seeping into a fresh cut on my finger.

Yowza!

I know, the picture doesn’t do it justice. I look like a wimp. I am a wimp. But…ow!

Was it good for you buddy?