The Story of My Life

I think I've mentioned before, I do a preschool co-op with 5 other mothers and their cute little preschoolers. It has turned out to be an AWESOME little venture. I thought it would be a great little social outing for Danyo and a good little break for each of the moms. Danyo has learned so much, and remarkably, all 6 kids get along really well. I have loved being a part of it.

The last time I taught, I did the letter L and we did some ladybug crafts.

I found this great little craft idea online that would take more time, but fairly simply steps, and a really cute end result. I had the kids paint little flower pots red, then I modge podged black spots and a very feminine little ladybug face onto the pot.
They would ultimately be cute little wind chimes, like this.

I had the kids paint the pots red, we let it dry, and then while they had snack, I quickly put the faces on six little pots. As those were drying on the table, I gathered the children onto the carpet and we did stories and singing. During one of our songs, I glanced over at the table and spotted this:
It took me a second and my heart just sank. I was sick, realizing I had just ruined six little flower pots that six little 3 year olds had just painted, with great effort and patience. I had looked all over town for pots those sizes, there was red paint all over my table and most of the kids, I had cut out dozens of eyes and dots...I was just so sad.

Turns out I only messed up one. And I know myself well, so I had purchased 8 pots total.

This really is the story of my life. Anything crafty, creative, or requiring step by step following of instructions, the only thing I do consistently, is mess it up. It's funny to me that I can be that consistent at not doing something right. I don't know what it is. Maybe I think it should be easier than it is, and I just rush.

It reminds me of a time my mom was visiting me and I dragged her to an all day craft party at church. I had signed up to decorate a cute little shelf, presumably for Bo's little nursery. I sat down and started chatting with my mom as I worked. I painted and wiped and painted, and cleaned up, and painted. It was a tiny little shelf with two little knobs to hang things on and I could NOT get it painted for the life of me. I kept trying and kept chatting.

Finally I sighed and threw the shelf down on the table and said, "I don't even know why I try---this stuff never works out for me!"

I half anticipated my mom's usual supportive, "Oh, you've done much better than I ever could have" or something along those lines. She started laughing almost uncontrollably and said, "I can't believe how long you kept trying---it was so obviously not working for you from the beginning. I've just been sitting here wondering when you'd realize that!"

I love her honesty. Really.