Weekend crafts

Smootch no longer needs me to ask, "Would you like to do a craft?" She tells me when it is time. (As in, "Mom. Turn off the computer. It's craft time.")

Smootch no longer looks to me for what to make. She tells herself what to make. (You can tell because her body will suddenly go still during play and her eyes glaze over, as a slow smile spreads across her face as inspiration blooms.)

Smootch no longer asks me what she has to work with. She already knows what is there. (She pulls the entire craft cupboard apart at least once a week looking for that elusive single wobbly eyeball sticker she saw a few months ago that she knows is there.)


I am no longer Smootch's guide. I am her personal staff. (She tells me her vision and I run the machines.)

I am no longer Smootch's model. I'm not even on the page most of the time. (It's too busy with cats, rainbows, roller skates, and random letters.)

I am no longer constant. She doesn't need my help or encouragement. (She' doesn't even need me in the room most of the time.)


I am constantly amazed. What is going to be shaped into existence by these tiny, creative fingers? (I have no idea. But I'm looking forward to it.)