Crafternoons are for the {pinterest} birds.
A few years ago my favorite pair of earrings went missing. I couldn’t find them for weeks until, one day, I spotted the very corner of them dangling out of the toilet paper roll in the bathroom.
Because children. They’re always misplacing things.
I can’t be too hard on them, though, because I’ve been misplacing lots of stuff lately. Like…entire days.
“Oh wow…it’s Friday already? I could’ve sworn we were on Tuesday. Wednesday at the latest.”
I misplaced 3 solid days last week. Honestly can’t tell you what we did, where we went, what we wore, when we last bathed. (The more I think about it, the more I realize what a lucky guy my husband is. What man doesn’t love coming home to a woman with questionable hygiene habits?)
This time last year I had an advent calendar with activities for each day counting down to Christmas. This year I have no recollection of Tuesday through Thursday.
I made it my mission to be more intentional this week. I usually avoid crafts/messy activities like the plague because daily living requires enough of a cleanup on its own, but TIS THE SEASON, DANGIT. We were going to have THE MOST FUN EVER.
It started with a “gingerbread village” because why stop at just a house? Let’s build an entire community.
On Wednesday morning, my early risers and I woke up, busted open the kit, and got to work. We took our time constructing, icing, and candying each structure.
To make it even more fun, we didn’t eat breakfast, we ate gingerbread shrapnel.
It was a total activity win. There weren’t even any meltdowns when it was time to clean up.
In fact, we had so much fun laughing and snacking on pure sugar, I figured it was probably close to lunch by the time we finished.
One full day of Christmas fun over and out.
And then I glanced at the clock.
8:02 am.
Eight-oh-two in the morning.
I was suddenly reminded why crafts are the worst. The effort-to-appreciation ratio is depressing.
But new week, new me. So we tacked the next day’s activity on to our agenda: baking and delivering cookies to our local law enforcement. (Have you seen the news this month? They all deserve an extra helping of gratitude these days.)
We baked, iced, sprinkled, and thanked.
Wednesday morning from 7-9 am was the most action our kitchen had experienced in a while.
You better believe I considered petrifying a few of these cookies to deliver this whole ensemble in a shadowbox. That sprinkle job and note are cute as crap: “thank for keeping us safe from mean guys” (I accidentally spelled bad. He totally wanted to write “mean” guys. He also informed me he prefers to use 3’s instead of s’s. You do you, my man.)
When it came time for the actual delivery, I made a slight miscalculation.
And by “slight” I mean have you ever seen what happens to 2 children aged 4 and 1.85 when they a) wake up entirely too early and b) only eat sugar for breakfast?
Our local police officers saw. They saw what happens.
To even get them out of the house and to the station, I had to physically stop my 4 year old from sprinting past me on his 54th loop around the house. Each loop, of course, accompanied by a screaming rendition of the Lord’s Army song. (My first attempt was yelling “WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING RIGHT NOW YOU HAVE GOT TO CALM DOWN” which, turns out, doesn’t diffuse a situation at all.)
When we finally unloaded our circus at the station, a haggard older woman came strolling out in uniform to accept our offering. I put on my most competent mother face as I kindly whispered-yelled to the 2 pinballs zinging around the lobby.
“Come over here, sweethearts! *soft smile* Please put down the– those are break– don’t drop that ornamen– *nervous giggle* What did you want to tell these nice office– come back by mommy, sweet dumpling– tell her about the cookies we brough– whoopsie, let me just wipe that spit up off the floo– no, I’m not telling her what we made, you te– let’s not kick that trash ca–”
I began to wonder exactly how closely the police work with child protective services.
We finally announced what we were doing, passed our gift to the thoroughly unimpressed lady cop, and got the heck outa Dodge right after I handed her the lock one of my boys had broken off their station’s glass award display case.
You win some, you lose some.
When we got back home, I sank onto the couch, exhausted.
We’d had a fun, activity-filled day.
I glanced at the time to confirm it was at least the middle of the afternoon. I’d probably need to start dinner soon.
Nope.
10:31 am.
2 things.
- I’m getting a new clock.
- I’m going to start Photoshopping our faces on other family’s crafternoon pictures.
Just kidding. Kind of.
These guys may contain (and require) more energy than humanly imaginable, but man do they ever bring joy.
I’d partake in a million stupid crafts – followed by a million full body baths – to see these cheeky little smirks.
[note the village/masterpiece in the background. It’s the only photo evidence we have of our gingerbreading.]
