You know, sometimes being a slacker mama is a good thing. I feel that Smootch's vast creativity is in part due to my benign negligence and absolute cheapness. I like to call it eco-consciousness or ethical consumption or unschooling or gentle parenting or confidence building or arts and crafts, but what is really is is that I am big on ideas and values but very limited in time and energy.
I know I look like a lame duck mama when the girl is trying to gather up paraphernalia for her Halloween witch dress up and I, while whole heartedly supporting her endeavors, still refuse to buy her the "witch's broom" made from a bamboo pole and willow twigs for a buck fifty at the Loonie Store. Instead, I mutter those infamous words, "we can make that ourselves."
(An aside about the witch costume: Smootch has been getting into character for a week already. She calls her brother 'sister' [as in the sisterhood of witches, looks like she's gone past the gender rigidity stage], she has perfected her blood curdling cackle, and she has boiled hundreds of ants, slugs, and small tasty children into potions that cause the drinker to immediately fall in love with any goats in the vicinity. Just a warning in case you happen to be in my neighborhood and either are a small child or are offered a drink by one.)
So, yes, we can make a witch's broom from a stick and the millions of fallen willow twigs outside out door. But, I meant, we can make it sometime this week, or next. Definitely before the end of the month. Hopefully.
Me = busy.
Smootch, knowing once I declare something we can make ourselves it is pretty much inaccessible for purchase (its a pride thing), and knowing even more that when I say we'll do something, 'when we find the time', that the project more than likely falls into a dark, airless vortex, where her quilt and a princess dress and a hundred other things I haven't gotten around to yet go to die a quiet, unacknowledged death.
Who needs mama, anyway?
She just do it herself.
With what she has one hand.
There is always lots of cardboard and hockey tape at my house. Tons of sticks, laying about.
And look at that. She's airborne.
(It makes me both worried and relieved that my best parenting moves are made by accident. I should start pretending like I meant to do it all along.)