Like kids in a candy store, they are furiously digging their grubby paws through the clearance bins, in search of an item, any item, that would make this dig pay off. They eagerly examine scrapbook stickers and notepads (although the monogram P and V are all that are left), until they find something random and I agree to add it to my basket.
We are there to buy supplies for their Halloween costumes, and before you get overly impressed with my superwoman skills, I must admit this is the first year I am attempting homemade costumes.
When my sister and I were growing up, my mother was that aforementioned supermom. She made us gourmet meals on a tight budget, managed a full time teaching job and still managed to be the mom who dug out her sewing machine periodically. When the kids in 7th grade were all buying Skidz pants (atrociously ugly), she actually made me a pair so I could fit in (though I never wore them- because I was a perpetually embarrassed preteen) My handmade costumes ranged from Michael jackson, to Strawberry Shortcake to (believe it or not) Benjamin Franklin. Though I still receive massive amounts of flack for the Michael Jackson costume (in black face and all, before PC was PC), I admire both her ability to conjure up such eclectic ideas, as well as seeing them through so successfully.
As an adult, and mother of five now, I am drawn to store made, over the top and ridiculously expensive costumes. Adding up the totals for my kids' costumes last year, it came to more than the cost of my wedding dress. And yet each year, after only two hours of gorgeousness, the costumes come to a heap at the bottom of a tupperware, and are never to be appreciated again.
This year, I fell in love with two costumes on ebay, but the woman who designed them was charging an absurd $125.00 per each, and I quickly came to the conclusion that for only a few hours of my time, and less than 25.00 per costume, I could make something equally (if not more) amazing, and perhaps earn the respect of my children, as well as my handy mother.
Thus, the trip to Michaels. Row upon row of colorful ribbon and silk flowers, kits for impatient children and imperatively patient mothers. Bejewels, bedazzles, baskets and batting. Frames, and scrapbooks and cake supplies. Every aisle holds a treasure...and the promise of a possibility. Aisle 1B, the cake supplies- completed the 4 courses, thinking I would be a cake decorator. Front of the store, supplies for wreath making- bought the supplies with every intention of making my own last year, only to donate it to an auction. Scrapbooking section- $1200.00 spent on stampin up and scrapbook pages, convinced I would make a killing making greeting cards. Kid craft aisle- 27 aprons, 24 fabric markers and a set of 12 puffy fabric paints for Morgan's birthday party last year.
The list could go on and on. I fondle things in this store, as odd as that is. I find gadgets I know no common use for, and still think- I must have this. I finger the spools of ribbon, nylon, organza, and grosgrain, and think- I should buy it now and someday I will need it. The yen to be crafty has been in me since childhood, but the talent has simply eluded me.
Jake speaks of Michaels, as an ex-convict would speak of the hell in which they once did time. He was dragged there by his own mother, and as he tells it, survived it only by the skin of his teeth.
I worried that bringing my three oldest there today would be the same, but as I let them pick out a craft each, and they eagerly grabbed boxes and colorful patches and foam objects (that I just know will eventually be thrown away), I saw that the need to create is more than just a learned need. It is something that comes from within, a happy surprise in a world so dead set upon destruction and decomposition. With the simple idea that in an afternoon, one can juice up their bedroom, put their face on a plate or make a vase filled with colorful explosions of hope, we are given a taste of optimism. It may seem like I am overstating, but boiled down, it really seems to be the case. My children are no more proud than when they have a new art project, or have learned a new song on the piano. Their floor has permanent bits of glitter embedded in the carpet, and they have overflowing "special boxes" in their closets, meant for sketches and palm print thanksgiving turkeys.
Knowing this, I have decided to add Michaels to my list. The list that is a bit meager with my children of such varying ages: Hoffman's, the park, the pool... After all, you can only be a kid in a candy store but for so long. I will post pictures of my homemade costumes, rudimentary though they may be, and do not think for a second I am not oozing with pride. I also will post pictures of a perhaps off-kilter foam Haunted House, a model car (taken over by daddy when little fingers grew restless) and a shockingly yellow shirt covered in an odd array of patches. And rest assured, I will also post the pictures of the happy faces from whom these creations were born. The happy faces of my very own amazing creations.
We are there to buy supplies for their Halloween costumes, and before you get overly impressed with my superwoman skills, I must admit this is the first year I am attempting homemade costumes.
When my sister and I were growing up, my mother was that aforementioned supermom. She made us gourmet meals on a tight budget, managed a full time teaching job and still managed to be the mom who dug out her sewing machine periodically. When the kids in 7th grade were all buying Skidz pants (atrociously ugly), she actually made me a pair so I could fit in (though I never wore them- because I was a perpetually embarrassed preteen) My handmade costumes ranged from Michael jackson, to Strawberry Shortcake to (believe it or not) Benjamin Franklin. Though I still receive massive amounts of flack for the Michael Jackson costume (in black face and all, before PC was PC), I admire both her ability to conjure up such eclectic ideas, as well as seeing them through so successfully.
As an adult, and mother of five now, I am drawn to store made, over the top and ridiculously expensive costumes. Adding up the totals for my kids' costumes last year, it came to more than the cost of my wedding dress. And yet each year, after only two hours of gorgeousness, the costumes come to a heap at the bottom of a tupperware, and are never to be appreciated again.
This year, I fell in love with two costumes on ebay, but the woman who designed them was charging an absurd $125.00 per each, and I quickly came to the conclusion that for only a few hours of my time, and less than 25.00 per costume, I could make something equally (if not more) amazing, and perhaps earn the respect of my children, as well as my handy mother.
Thus, the trip to Michaels. Row upon row of colorful ribbon and silk flowers, kits for impatient children and imperatively patient mothers. Bejewels, bedazzles, baskets and batting. Frames, and scrapbooks and cake supplies. Every aisle holds a treasure...and the promise of a possibility. Aisle 1B, the cake supplies- completed the 4 courses, thinking I would be a cake decorator. Front of the store, supplies for wreath making- bought the supplies with every intention of making my own last year, only to donate it to an auction. Scrapbooking section- $1200.00 spent on stampin up and scrapbook pages, convinced I would make a killing making greeting cards. Kid craft aisle- 27 aprons, 24 fabric markers and a set of 12 puffy fabric paints for Morgan's birthday party last year.
The list could go on and on. I fondle things in this store, as odd as that is. I find gadgets I know no common use for, and still think- I must have this. I finger the spools of ribbon, nylon, organza, and grosgrain, and think- I should buy it now and someday I will need it. The yen to be crafty has been in me since childhood, but the talent has simply eluded me.
Jake speaks of Michaels, as an ex-convict would speak of the hell in which they once did time. He was dragged there by his own mother, and as he tells it, survived it only by the skin of his teeth.
I worried that bringing my three oldest there today would be the same, but as I let them pick out a craft each, and they eagerly grabbed boxes and colorful patches and foam objects (that I just know will eventually be thrown away), I saw that the need to create is more than just a learned need. It is something that comes from within, a happy surprise in a world so dead set upon destruction and decomposition. With the simple idea that in an afternoon, one can juice up their bedroom, put their face on a plate or make a vase filled with colorful explosions of hope, we are given a taste of optimism. It may seem like I am overstating, but boiled down, it really seems to be the case. My children are no more proud than when they have a new art project, or have learned a new song on the piano. Their floor has permanent bits of glitter embedded in the carpet, and they have overflowing "special boxes" in their closets, meant for sketches and palm print thanksgiving turkeys.
Knowing this, I have decided to add Michaels to my list. The list that is a bit meager with my children of such varying ages: Hoffman's, the park, the pool... After all, you can only be a kid in a candy store but for so long. I will post pictures of my homemade costumes, rudimentary though they may be, and do not think for a second I am not oozing with pride. I also will post pictures of a perhaps off-kilter foam Haunted House, a model car (taken over by daddy when little fingers grew restless) and a shockingly yellow shirt covered in an odd array of patches. And rest assured, I will also post the pictures of the happy faces from whom these creations were born. The happy faces of my very own amazing creations.
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