I got skills...

Just not for anything remotely useful. My skills used to include drinking vodka and chain-smoking...I suspect if we go far enough back, I'm of Russian descent. As a parent, I've had to hang up my shoes in these arenas and have attempted to better myself in the areas of baking, cooking, knitting, crafts...you know, all that shit that involves heavy levels of patience, mental strength and talent. These descriptions don't bode well when stacked against my God-given natural abilities.

To give you an example of my complete and utter lack of ability, let me tell the tale of my recent trip to a Kindergarten classroom. Along with all the other parents, I was there with Jack to make Christmas tree ornaments with the kids. It was all going moderately well, however having James slung across my chest was not entirely conducive to seeing exactly what my hands were doing in my attempts to sprinkle glitter and apply glue. Wrong order. Apply glue, then sprinkle the glitter. See, I learn.

At one point, I mercifully engaged my brain-to-mouth filter just in time, and avoided uttering something to the effect of, "This f***ing kid-friendly glue is absolute shit." Seriously. Back in the day, I recall being handed a vat of contact cement, along with a pat on the head for good luck. And what was so wrong with that? At least you had something to show for your efforts once the glue dried, which was immediately. The fact that you likely had some skin nicely layered in there along with a piece of your shirt was beside the point.

Needless to say, we made it home with something that looked similar to the Abominable Snowman. Jack was terribly pleased and went to hang it on the tree. Exhibit A: Jack's face moments after he hung it.

In hindsight, this visual of Isla (known widely in our circles as Peanut), rubbing her hands together and making her way over to the area where Abominable was hung, should have been my official warning that things were about to go sideways.

This dreamy moment lasted for about a minute, that is until Peanut made a run for it and had that thing beheaded and de-limbed (Is this a word? If it isn't, it should be. If pressed, I guess amputated would work just as well.) inside of 4 seconds. Jack lost it. "Bad, Peanut. BAD!!! Mommy! You have to fix BOMBNIBLE!" To which I assured him I would do.

I went hunting for some real glue though, and found it in the form of some heavy-duty crazy glue crap. As I was preparing BOMNIBLE's parts, I was having some fun reading the instructions on the glue. It went something like this: "Do not let glue come into contact with eyelids. If eyelids are glued shut, call Doctor immediately." Well, I guess you wouldn't be able to do that, would you? 'Cause you wouldn't be able to see. I hate stating the obvious but it should likely read, "If eyelids are glued shut, immediately run into the streets screaming. That, or kindly ask your husband, who's likely sitting in the adjoining room watching sports, to drive you to the hospital." The label went on to say: "Do not under any circumstance touch glue to skin. If this happens, contact your local Poison Control Centre immediately." This my friends, was the final clue that this is the type of glue that'll stick. There ain’t no 2-year old peeling parts off anything once this gets laid down.

Midway through the reconstruction of BOMBNIBLE, I recall thinking: "How big of a loser do you actually have to be, exactly, to get this glue all over your ski...F**K! F**K! Roddy! Come here quick! This fur ball is stuck to my finger! Aaaaaaaaaaaah...hurry. Rip if off. OMIGOD, OMIGOD, OMIGOD...."

Yes, I'm reminded that in moments of unabashed arrogance, sweet baby Jesus gives me a smack to the head. And rightfully so. Here's a photo of what remains of BOMBNIBLE today.

Yes, I'm rather embarrassed to admit that in my ensuing rage, I chucked out the ball that was meant to be the left leg, carelessly tossing it into the trash along with a chunk of skin. Which is likely a good thing. That would have been throwing down some serious smell by this time next year. I really have no idea what happened to the right leg and nose. I suspect Peanut ate them. 

My ill-fated attempt to repair Jack's ornament got me thinking about a recent episode in church. My sister (Fry) was holding Peanut, and they were scribbling away in Peanut's book. My daughter brings this little sketch pad with her everywhere, and can often be seen scribbling away furiously, almost like she's a journalist at the scene of whatever crime happens to be occurring at that moment. At some point, she'll usually ask someone to draw her a bunny or a kitty. Which is exactly what she asked my sister to do in church. So Fry drew a kitty. Or some mutant version of such. Moments later, all I heard ringing out in church (along with every other soul within a 50-yard radius) was, "Kitty's boobies, Auntie. Biiiiiiiiiiig ones."

I looked down at the drawing, then up at Fry and gave her a look of, "What the @#$% are you doing drawing boobs on a kitty? What's the matter with you?" She was laughing so hard, trying to contain her mirth (I ask you, why do the laughs that require this level of intense suppression always happen in church?) All she could manage to whisper back was, "They're paws. Those are paws." Yes people, apparently those pendulous abominations are meant to be paws; they are not a set of enormous Mama-nursing breasts.

All told, suddenly my artistic ability is looking pretty good. I guess it's all relative to who you're comparing yourself to. This injection of (false) confidence is exactly what I need right now as I venture to the bowels of the basement. With Christmas just around the corner, we're mounting a full-scale attack to complete Project Playroom (stay tuned...). God be with us. Knowing of my plans for tonight, a wise friend emailed me and said, "I wasn't going to contact you today as I know your to-do list involves breaking the time-space continuum to get it done. Be gentle on Roddy. More importantly, BE GENTLE WITH YOURSELF." Wise words (except for the Roddy part).  I have to keep reminding myself that with anything in life, it's not about being perfect, it's about doing your best.

Merry Christmas, friends. xo