Uh, guys? You might wanna check out your window for flying pigs, because I…wait for it… helped Audrey with a craft today. GASP. I know. Shocking. And, I’m sorry to say, the result is even more shocking.
Here we have our unfortunate pilgrim. I think he may be the creepiest creeper Puritan that ever did creep. He’s definitely up to something, and I canNOT have him looking like that on our shelf any longer. I won’t sleep tonight.
For the record, my daughter is actually an ingenious little crafter. She’s maybe one of the most creative people I know, and makes the most amazing things with the simplest of supplies. I’m truly amazed by what she imagines and then executes all on her own.
Obviously, I should never insert myself into her creative flow. I definitely mess with the mojo. Things go south, and fast. I’m like King Midas with crafts, only the exact opposite.
I think my first mistake was following the silly directions in the tidy little pre-made craft curriculum book. Audrey probably could’ve looked at a pilgrim picture and pretty much figured it out. But no, “I will assuage my mommy-guilt over never crafting with this handy-dandy pre-made craft book!” said I. Bad decision. Horrible decision.
My second mistake was presuming that I could teach her to draw a better or more sophisticated face than she already can. That was pure folly. She drew this wonky face with my guidance, following my example. Please don’t blame her. Her own drawings are quite lovely.
Mistake number three: I forgot to give him hair. WHO FORGETS THE HAIR?? I think his baldness is contributing greatly to his creepiness.
And lastly, why are we making a boy pilgrim? Audrey is a girl and if I would’ve ditched the aforementioned “craft curriculum,” we could’ve easily and much more sensibly made a girl pilgrim. She totally could’ve had a cute little bonnet and cute little eyelashes and such.
Lesson learned. Go with your gut. Go your own way. Throw off the suffocating chains of craft curriculum. Send Audrey to her table with her box of magic and see what happens. Her results are always infinitely better than creeper John. (That’s what I’ve named him.) And things just generally turn out better when I’m not involved.
That’s all, friends. Happy (creepy) Thanksgiving.