The Mooch and I stare down at a table full of glitter-bombed dreck. Brenda, my daughter’s Brownie troop leader, points to a green lump with glued-on googly eyes and orange tinsel hair.
“This is Moochie’s St. Patrick’s Day project. She didn’t finish it, then said it didn’t matter because mom always throws them out anyway.”
Crap. I shoot a horrified glance at my informant daughter, mutter “Oh, Fredo, you broke my heart” and start furious verbal backpedaling.
“Oh, no; she’s confused. We throw away some of the school papers, the worksheets and whatnot, but not her Brownie projects.”
In truth, she’s lucky if they make the car. Every week there is another holiday themed, dollar bin at Michael’s craft project to transport home. Invariably, they are covered in wet Elmer’s glue, so you have to hold them gingerly, as if they are made of Dresden china. It’s like transporting baby chicks with brittle bone disease.
Once the foam monstrosities are in the house, they stay on the dining room table, shedding pipe cleaners, until my daughter forgets about them. Then I collect a pile and dispose of them under cover of night, like a serial killer burying the bodies. [Read more...]