By Rick Kaempfer
When other men find out I’m a stay at home dad, I usually see a certain look in their eyes. It’s not exactly pity, but it’s a close relative. I can see the wheels spinning in their heads, wondering how they would do in the same situation. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, I usually get the same question.
“What’s the worst part?” they ask.
I have a stock answer to that question, and it always surprises them.
“Crafts.”
They think I’m joking. They don’t understand the magnitude of the problem, but it’s something I face every single day. I don’t care if it sounds benign and harmless. It’s the bane of my existence. I hate crafts.
I mean it. I really, really, really hate crafts.
If you’re the parent of young children, you know what I’m talking about. You have to do crafts all the time. It starts during the first “mom and tot” class at the park district. As soon as you walk in the door, the teacher hands you (not the kid) some construction paper, crayons, scissors, and three cotton balls.
“Today we’re making snowmen!”
It gets more and more involved as they get older.
I have three boys. In pre-school we created a lifetime supply of paper ghosts, goblins, thanksgiving turkeys, snowmen and snowflakes. In Kindergarten we made countless leaves, Indians, Valentine hearts, shamrocks, and mother’s day cards; not to mention many, many more snowmen and snowflakes.
When did it stop? It hasn’t.
First grade, second grade, third grade, fourth grade. Crafts, crafts, crafts, crafts. Is it time for the science fair? Great! Load up on supplies and start cutting, drawing, painting, pasting and creating. Get some markers, paint brushes, construction paper, cardboard, scissors, glue, silly putty, Play-doh and yarn.
“Dad,” my oldest son said. “This year let’s make an exploding volcano for the science fair.”
“Oh don’t worry, pal,” I said. “I can almost guarantee you an exploding volcano.”
Religious Education is no escape from crafts, either. Every year at Easter time, you can bet we’ll be making a cross.
“Shouldn’t we be allowed to resurrect last year’s cross?” I asked.
The teacher’s incredulous glare let me know it wasn’t an option.
“What?” I said. “It’s thematically appropriate.”
If it’s a new day, it’s a new craft. Here’s a big blob of clay and some shellac. Make a duck. Here’s a pinecone and a jar of peanut butter. Make a lure for squirrels. Here’s a stick, a leaf, a blade of grass, a jar of Elmer’s glue and a tongue depressor. Make Benjamin Franklin discovering electricity.
“Make it yourself,” I think to myself. “I’ll happily pay $20.”
Oh…how…I…hate…crafts.
(Exhale)
There, I feel better. Sometimes you just need to vent.
Now if you’ll kindly excuse me, I’m looking for a shoe box, a carrot, three jelly beans, a baggie full of mini M&Ms and a quarter. My son and I have to make a diorama of George Washington crossing the Delaware.
This also appeared on my blog at NWI Parent, "Father Knows Nothing." If you haven't yet checked out "Father Knows Nothing," Click here to check it out.
