The project guidelines came home today, and no moment can ever
more clearly define you as a mother.
Now or forever.
The internal debate starts almost instantly. Do you dare take
over the whole blasted diorama thing, thereby ensuring your child's
shoebox isn't the laughingstock of the entire third grade? Are you
prepared to make multiple runs to Michael's buying wood glue, felt,
and synthetic grass? Do you head over to Carson's to peruse their
shoe boxes for the most appropriate dimensions (completely resigned
to spending $120 on a pair of animal print stilettos in the wrong
size simply to secure the ultimate in diorama superiority?).
Or do you toss your kid a pair of scissors, a bottle of glue,
and a magazine from 2006 and tell him to get busy?
Yeah. Guess which one I went with?
Now to be fair, Jack is in the preliminary stages of mapping out
his diorama. He has run a few ideas by me, which I supported
whole-heartedly. And by "whole-heartedly," I nodded politely while
engrossed in a recap of the worst dressed from the Golden
Then things took a bit of a turn.
You see, Jack had to complete a report on the white tailed deer
in advance of creating his diorama. When he gave me the paper, I
quickly glanced over his sketchy five-paragraph essay and reminded
myself that this wasn't his doctoral thesis I was reading. I also
took comfort in knowing that I didn't know how to spell "antlers"
in third grade either.
When I came to the section under "Biggest Threats to the White
Tailed Deer," I saw that Jack had listed foxes, lions, and
My love of the inappropriate was stirred.
"Hey, Jack! How about after you make your little cardboard deer
there, we lay it on its back next to a Matchbox car? How FUNNY
WOULD THAT BE? We can even add KETCHUP."
Unfortunately, Jack does not share his mother's twisted brain,
and before I could say another word, he scooped up his materials,
shoebox, and the Scooby Doo Minivan I had offered up as the Bambi
"I'm gonna work on this upstairs, Mommy."
Like I said, there's nothing like the old diorama project to let
you know who you are as a mom … or how much you should be putting
aside for your kids' future therapy bills.
Marianne is mother of three sons and the wife of a southside Irish fireman. She has learned that sometimes you're just too dumb to know what makes you happy. She blogs regularly at We Band of Mothers (webandofmothers.com) and curses with even greater frequency. Her material is written for the imperfect, the imprudent, and the impatient mothers who know that all this stuff is really very funny if you just give it a minute.
See more of Marianne's stories here.
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