Arts and Crafts Hell

I have become a State Fair Stage Mom. How did this happen? The child is only 6!

Since I don't know how I got here let me just say where I am. I live in a house where three hours a day are spent supervising a 6 year old as he sews, draws, constructs, and paints 10 entries for the state fair arts and crafts competition. (Activities he greatly enjoys, I will add to save my soul.)

I live in a house that has some drying or half-made project in every room. Let me formally declare that the papier mache robot hanging from the shower curtain rod looks like a voodoo homunculus.

In our house, when mama comes to wake a little boy by climbing in his bed, she does not mumble "Time for school" or "Good mornin' punkin'!" Mama says, "You gotta' sew before breakfast." Oddly, he jumped right up.

The only good that can come of this is that I will not be a dance stage mom. When I took him to dance class on Saturday I spent the 90 minutes calculating how he would finish these projects before Friday. I saw him dance for 3.2 minutes.

Next year I will repent. Really. In the words of Paul Simon, "I don't find this stuff amusing any more." I will not allow 10 entries unless he starts on them in June. I won't. I mean it.

As for the kid, he gets double TV time for a week or so just to get him back to normal. And I may have to go to the evil Chuck E Cheese. But not this week. It's all glue guns and embroidery thread this week.

Decorating Techniques for the Weary

Fridays are no longer fun. I take my nasty meds on Fridays at 12:30. I then call or text my husband with something along the lines of "Snow White has bitten the apple" or "I am Three Mile Island". And then I feel crummy for a day or two.

I have been inspired by the congregants I know who find clever ways to enjoy life in the face of health routines far worse than mine. In their spirit I invited a few friends over on Friday evening for cocktails that I couldn't drink and snacks. I thought the company would be a nice thing to look forward to instead of just cataloguing side effects.

This was a good idea with some drawbacks.
1) The house needed straightening.
2) I had no energy.
3) The guest list started to grow.

The end of the story is that the guests came and we had a very nice time. My family greatly enjoyed themselves. The house was mostly ready. Everyone got to meet people they did not know. I ended Friday thinking it was a good day.

One major thing did not get done, however. There is a huge pile of magazines, cards, junkmail, children's art, and random paper on a bookcase at the front door. I had no energy to deal with it. So I left it there. Right in the living room where we were all sitting. But to show some hostess decorum I put a big note on it so my guests knew that I would have done something about it if I could have.

The note read: Picture a Tasteful Floral Arrangement Here.

Do turtles have little hands?

We have jumped up on the "Why" season with my daughter. I like the why season. It makes me curious again. And when the questions are like the title of the post, I just smile.

Is fog really clouds that fell down? Can cicadas bite? How do they make Golden Grahams? The answers aren't nearly as satisfying as the questions. I wish she would answer some of my questions.

Why do you like your brother's shoes better than yours even when they make you fall? Why have you become so cuddly at last (not that I am complaining)? Why do you cry so much? What is the magic about bandaids? Why do you like foods today and hate them tomorrow? How do you get your hair to do that? Why doesn't "Thriller" scare you?

She'd probably answer mine with the same choral response I give her sometimes when I've run out of answers and almost out of patience.

Mystery. Mystery. Life is a riddle and a mystery.

Poetry Wednesday

Funeral Langston Hughes

Carried lonely up the aisle
In a box without a smile,
Resting near the altar where
Folks pass by and stare -

If I was alive
I'd say,
I don't give a damn
Being this-a way!

But I would give a damn.

Welcome to the horror!

My first facebook message was the title of this post. It came from a man whom I've known since he was a boy. He is funny, laid back, sweet and he caught me off-guard. "What on earth is he talking about?" I wondered.

Well, it is two weeks later. I now have 127 friends on facebook. I know thanks to the 250 emails that confirmed those friendships. I have received pokes, superpokes, flair, pear trees, beer, 80s toys, and a variety of star wars figures. Or so the endless emails tell me. None of these things seem to actually exist. They are just the way facebook friends say "hi."

I have reunited with at least a dozen old friends I haven't seen in years. I've checked in on the baby pics of classmates, work buddies, and SUUSI pals. And I regularly report my status and check the status of friends. (Rennie is still cleaning up the dog mess. Alane is pleading not guilty. Marco is watching Hungarian soap operas.)

As a woman who has done a lot of weird stuff in her life - performance art, military training, tending bar, following bands, giving birth...

Facebook has to be one of the weirder things.

Status: Alane is in the horror, but at least I know folks here.