I was in a masochistic mood so I read that blog the other day.  You know the one, the cloth-diapering, organic, made from scratch baby food purveyor. The one whose idea of a “guilty treat” is, like, salsa with blue corn tortilla chips.   The one who cries when her kids go to sleep at night because she misses them so much.  (Oh man, I don’t think I’m ever going to get over that post; the universe should expect that I will reference that every time I talk about mombies.)

Anyway, I’ve been fighting a cold this week so I set DD and V up with a craft project.  Here’s what I didn’t know:  These craft kits — the ones I had contained all the elements needed to make your own magic wand — require adult supervision.  Like, you can’t just throw a stapler and bottle of white glue at them and take a nap.  Because I tried and believe me, those kids just stared at the pile of tulle, star-shaped cork and dowels as if I had just tried to put a green vegetable in front of them.  They were completely bewildered and disillusioned and generally disgusted with me.  Sigh.

So I dragged my tuberculosis-ridden body off the couch and figured I’d give them a head start.  There were these foam sheets — oh, did I mention that there were no directions? — that I let them draw pictures on.  It ate up time and bought me silence.  Later, I just threw them away (inside of an empty cereal box because Veruca now checks the trash every day since I “totally accidentally and unintentionally, I would never do that on purpose, honey,” threw away one of her school projects — because I didn’t know how to incorporate them into the wands.

I wrapped the handles in ribbon and stars.  I wrote their initials with white glue on the star and covered it with gold glitter.  I attached little flowers and bows.  Incidentally, “crafts for kids” just means “Projects that parents have to do and then hand off their hard-earned works of art to their ungrateful children.”

After all the creating, I hit a wall; I had no idea how to attach the dowel to the star.  I tried Scotch tape and I tried staples.  I tried casting magic spells — we were making wands after all; it was worth a shot — and I tried crying.  Nothing worked.  Then, I got in touch with my inner testicles and decided to try duct tape.  That shit is strong and believe me, I have very emphatic mystics in this house.  They don’t just point a wand in my direction, they shot put it towards me.  And the stars are staying on.  They are casting spells; they are happy.

And I … well I’m still feeling nothing but jubilant when my kids go to bed and I just had Cheetos, which I totally consider a serving of vegetables and dairy, for dinner.

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