Remember the crafting afternoon disaster I wrote about last week? It wasn't entirely unsuccessful. There was one craft that turned out so beautifully that we're actually planning on going back and revisiting it tomorrow, because pom-pom pinecone ornaments are so cute that I kiiiind of need to make baskets of them.
A couple of weeks ago, my friend Erin asked if I wanted to set up a crafting afternoon for our kids, so they could make gifts for their grandparents (and anyone else who might prefer a fingerpainted snowman to, say, a Dyptique candle, which would be no one, but that's besides the point). We started a Pinterest board to find projects that seemed doable without looking too much like...you know...crafts. Our goal was to make things that the recipients might actually enjoy, as opposed to things that they feel obligated to display in perpetuity because said thing was made by a child.
This entire post is going to come with a massive caveat, and the caveat is this: If you have children under the age of...I don't know, I've only been a parent for five years. At what age do children start sitting still? Five-year-olds don't, in any case. So here's the caveat: if you have kids aged five or under and decide to make a fucking wind chime, please be aware that you will end up being the one making it. (My five-year-old did, in fact, bead his very own wind chime strand...and then picked it up to show it to me, at which point all the beads fell off, transforming a happy crafting afternoon into a trauma likely to halt further beading experiments for two years, at minimum. Because that is what happens when you try to force a five-year-old to make a fucking wind chime.) (My two-year-old, in contrast, applied herself with spectacular concentration and perseverance. Except what she was concentrating on and persevering in was ensuring that every single piece of berry bunny cereal, including the ones she dropped on the floor, were eaten.)
When Elise and I got together a few days before the Mermaid Party to work on the decor and she told me that we were going to make a bubble chandelier, I kind of went "mmmhmmm yeah sounds great!" and then returned to hot-gluing starfish to sticks, because obviously we were not going to make a bubble chandelier. Because in my world, that is not something that people do. It turned out that I was right (that day at least): after hot-gluing many, many starfish to many, many sticks we ran out of time, and no bubble chandeliers were made. And so I forgot about the whole thing, figuring Elise had realized that trying to make one of these things was way more labor-intensive than anything created for a two-year-old's birthday party should rightfully be.
Then, on the morning of the party, Elise showed up an hour early to help me set up (I've said this before, but helloooo awesome friend), sat down at my dining room table, and said: "OK, let's get started on the chandelier."
Excusemewhat? Do you not see I am presently pouring frozen meatballs onto a sheet of aluminum foil and not exactly ideally situated for a four-hour plastic bubble extravaganza?
Remember my little run-in with a full jar of gold leaf a few weeks ago? (Not one of my finest moments.)
But honestly? I wasn't all that upset about the fact that I'd just completely destroyed my floor with a permanent paint-splatter. Because I'd already decided that I was going to (finally) do something about the terrible, dark-grouted, 1970s-style tile in our master bathroom. And the solution that I'd come up with would mean that I'd be able to fix up the floor (which was tinted a lovely shade evoking a 1981 urinal) as well...at no additional cost.
Stay with me.
Here is my attitude towards crafting: I am thrilled to do it, but only if it’s easy. Massively involved, multi-step crafts involving expensive and/or specialized supplies are just not my jam. My kids have just started to get really into art (although my 1 1/2 –year-old is mostly interested in applying things like paint and glitter to herself), so I’ve been trying to come up with fun (and easy) little projects for us to do in the afternoons, during that terrible, horrible interlude between 4PM and dinnertime when things can go real bad, real quick.
The key to navigating the Witching Hour (which is actually two hours): keep those tiny hands busy, and away from things like full boxes of cereal, dog food, permanent markers in shades that look really pretty when applied to white walls, and your favorite jacket.
