I tend to feel guilty for not doing enough to help our local AIM team. We do support the ministry financially, and I do serve as the team’s glove mistress, but I don’t go to all the presentations, I’m not on the LITE team (parents leadership team), and since I’m seriously not a party person, I often don’t show up for get-togethers. However, today was “prop making day,” and I thought that sounded like something practical I could do. I’m not the least bit crafty or creative, but if someone tells me to insert tab A into slot B, then fold, spindle and mutilate twice, I can follow directions. As I said, I was sure I could help make props. Boy, was I ever wrong.
What needed to happen involved “Gifter” boxes. “Gifter” is one of the songs our team presents, and some beautiful golden boxes are used during that song. Various things are pulled out of the boxes at appropriate times. The boxes are shoe-box sized, wooden, covered with batting (to make them cushiony) and then covered with gold lame and crimson ribbon and bows.
Kristi handed me a model box to use as my pattern. She then gave me two others that were already covered not so very neatly with the gold lame, and which didn’t open and close properly. Their lame was not firmly glued down, and their lids were floppy and askew. She said, “This is something I’m sure you guys (I had Andrew with me) can figure out how to do. We just need these two boxes to look and function like this one. You can take them apart or whatever.” She gave me a sewing box (“in case you need to pin or measure.” ME ?!?!? Pin or measure ?!?!?), some extra crimson ribbon, and a bottle of Elmer’s glue. WIth no further ado, SHE LEFT ME ALONE WITH THE “GIFTER” BOXES!!!
This was more serious than we had thought.
After five minutes of wrangling with the floppy gold lame and trying unsuccessfully to affix it to its box with Elmer’s, I sent Andrew to ask Kristi if she had a glue gun and some duct tape. I don’t know how to use a glue gun, but I mentioned it because I thought I’d best sound crafty around Kristi, who is The Absolute Queen of all things sewn and scrapbooked. On the other hand, I do know how to use duct tape, and I figured I’d fashion a hinge for the lazy lid with duct tape and cover my sin with gold lame.
Kristi went home (next door) and returned with both my requested supplies, plus a little more gold lame. I continued to stare stupidly at my torn-down “Gifter” box. I could see how it needed to go together, but I couldn’t figure out how to use what I had in front of me to make it work out right.
Meanwhile, two other little boys (one of them my fourteen year old son) came in and joined Andrew, and the three of them together acted like wild banshees, sliding around on roller chairs, squealing, getting into things, and generally making nuisances of themselves. They got noisier and noisier and noisier until I could stand it no longer. The dad of the non-Roberts child came and extricated his son from the fray, but that left me, my two rowdy boys, and ALL those layers of gold lame.
I studied the glue gun. It had an electric cord, but no power switch. Andrew crawled on the floor and plugged it in for me. I stuck a stick in its back end and started squeezing the trigger. Yes, melted glue came out. I folded down and edge of lame and pressed. No so smart, Sherlock. Sheee-yowww! I thought the glue would just be warm and sticky, not scalding! Great. Now I had singed fingertips. Shoot! That stuff was really HOT! And it stayed hot for a good long while. I should know.
I spent the next hour – no exaggeration – struggling with the lid of that “Gifter” box. When I finally got the gold lame neatly smoothed down and affixed, the box failed to close by an inch and a half. I tore it all apart and started over. The batting on the sides was too thick to allow the styrofoam lid to fit all the way down. (Note that the sample box had a CARDBOARD lid, which had enough weight to pull itself shut, as long as the lame wasn’t stretched too tight. I had no access to cardboard.) I decided that the styrofoam lid would close better if it weren’t quite so long, so I cut it down twice and it was still too short. (sigh)
I actually ended up putting the box together and tearing it apart three times, but it could have been thirty-three times. The box still scored N for “needs improvement.”
Andrew was getting more and more restless, telling me that he wasn’t having any fun (since when was fun the goal in life?), that he was hungry (why hadn’t he eaten his lunch when I told him to?), and that he was B-O-R-E-D (did I really give a flying rip?).
Then I had a brainstorm! The gold stuff at the corners was too thick to allow the lid to close all the way. Aha! I cut some of it out. Now it was thinner, but (in yet another episode of cut-it-off-twice-and-it’s-still-too-short) not long enough to be glued down to anything! Nw I was really in hot water – and hot glue. Not only did the “Gifter” box look significantly worse than when it was handed to me; I had already used three glue sticks and nothing was stuck, the work table resembled the landing path of a recent tornado, four fingers and both thumbs were burnt, and I was ready to discipline Andrew in a whole lot of anger for a very long time.
I am not the crying type, but I began to cry. The frustration and anger caused the tears; the hormones kept them going. Mostly, I didn’t want to have to admit to Kristi that no matter how hard I tried, I could NOT repair that “Gifter” box; she would have to ask someone else to do it. I take my responsibilities very seriously, and I HATE to not follow through on what I’ve said I would do. I also hate to fail, and Mr. “Gifter” Box had spent over an hour proving me a total failure – at least in the world of crafts.
I melted another glue stick or two or three and slopped glue all over the box. Using my burnt finger tips and the handle of the scissors, I tried secure the lame. I wrapped ribbon around the box and made a bow. The lid was now about an inch and a quarter from closing. I cleaned up all the mess. I stacked up the three “Gifter” boxes. I put a note on the one I had massacred that said something like, “I am quite sure that glue guns are not my grace gift. I am very sorry that I could not do a better job.” Then, successfully avoiding Kristi and thus concealing the mascara on my cheeks, I snuck out the door. . . to the recital rehearsal. . . when my rear end was entirely too large to fit on the bench beside Jessica for our duet. . . where I forgot to pick up the summer schedule and had to go back. . . and where I (we discovered two-and-a-half hours later) LEFT MY PURSE – complete with phone, wallet, driver’s license, credit cards, etc.
Of course, I didn’t even know my purse was missing until I wanted to call Scott but couldn’t find my phone. Actually, I was cooking supper – sort of. We had some spaghetti sauce left over and I made some pasta to go under it. Only I overcooked the pasta and it was mush. I stuck my finger (clean) into it to see how bad the consistency was (pretty bad), and it was remarkably similar to partially set hot glue. I think this day just needs to end. = ) Soon I will see My Hero and it will!
