Strange Sensation

Molly is now four and a half years old. That means that I have had her pretty much constantly with me for almost half a decade. A fairly long time.

However, she is rapidly approaching a time when I will have to share her with the rest of the world. Kindergarten is coming quickly. Molly as a separate individual, on her own. Out there.

I have enrolled the girls in a program where they do art for an hour and then get taken to a half hour swim lesson. This "combo program" is catchily called Splish Splash Arts and Crafts (although, I would argue that it should actually be Arts and Crafts Splish Splash given the order of activities...). There is zero parent participation. The kids even put their bathing suits on under their clothes so as to minimize the need for one-on-one attention. I dropped Molly and Finny off and went to get coffee with Lukey. At the end of the first hour, I went to a spot where I could see the kids through glass as they made their way into the pool. It was weird.

Of the seven kids in the class, two were genetically connected to me...actually came into existence through my body. But for a bizarre moment, they were just kids. Anonymous and nameless. Just two more kids in a clump of kids I don't know. Just two more little, demanding faces that poor Nikki (the instructor) had to keep track of because she is paid to do so. My all important (to me) off spring were only two more names on a clipboard to Nikki. Out they venture...away from the world they have inside our home, where they are well-known, well-loved and (moderately) well-tended. Out to a place where they have to prove themselves, establish themselves and assert themselves.

So strange. Just two more kids in a cluster that I would completely ignore if they weren't there. Out there...

E-Doris Gertrude Hamblin

My Mom's Mom, Grandma Hamblin passed away yesterday. Being 95 and living in Ontario meant that we didn't have a lot of contact with her, but she will be missed nonetheless. Grandma Hamblin was one of my only real contact's with the roots of our country. To me, she was the classic Canadian matriarch. Polite, trustworthy, respectful, and quiet. When she had a job to do, she would do it well and without a fuss. Whether it was raising her own family, running a well tended household, or entertaining a grandson visiting Toronto for a week, Doris was always polite and unassuming- a classic Canadian role model. Because of her reserved stoic, nature, it was difficult for me to really know what excited or displeased her. She was just too damn polite to say anything! The only exception I can think of was her passion for the Maple Leafs. She was no rabid fan painting her face Blue and White- she was much too subtle for that. However, I couldn't help but notice how she would time meals to end just before the game started. I have a pretty strong recollection of heading down to the basement and catching a few minutes of Jeopardy before getting to watch to Buds lose another game. Now that pastime takes some real stoicism!

With the passing of my self described "Classic Canadian Matriarchal Grandmother", it got me thinking about how much the country has changed in her life time, and under what different circumstances we are raising our children. Doris grew up on a farm in Ontario with 6 older and 2 younger siblings. She had none of the conveniences that we have today and yet lived a life rich in family, friends and nature. It sometimes seems to me that all of our so-called time saving devices and "improvements" of modern living actually move us further from these ideals. However, I also see how lucky I am to grow up in a time and place where every one's uniqueness is valued and cultivated, instead of stifled. I would have really liked to know more about Doris' passions, quirks and eccentricities that lay buried under the surface.

Tangled Hair Apples don't fall far from the tree...

Those of you who know me know that I have notoriously tangled hair. This sight of Finny greeted me yesterday morning. Apparently there is a tangles gene. She got it. Bad.

E- A trot in the fresh air

Work for 12 hours, drive 25 kilometers, run 1.65 miles in the pouring rain with very phlegmy lungs while recovering from the flu, do 40 push-ups, 3 minutes of lying straight-legged on my back holding my feet 14 inches off the ground, standing long-jump, obstacle course, grip strength test and then a number of balancing coordination drills- all this and be home in time for lunch. No, I didn't join the army. I had yet another opportunity to be one of many firefighters applying for an opening with a local department. Believe it or not, I am one of the lucky ones- a couple of hundred fully qualified applicants were eliminated before the process even began. It's a different world out there running in the rain at 7 oclock in the morning, than the one you read about in newspaper headlines "BC desperate for workers". Every one of those guys on the track have been working, volunteering, paying for additional courses, training physically, networking and preparing for interviews in the hopes they can get a little edge on their competition. It's a tough job market to enter. When telling people I am working towards a job as a firefighter, I often hear about how cushy a job it is and how easy firefighters have it. People don't see the other side of the equation- the amount of hard work and dedication required in the time before and immediately after a candidate gets hired. Some professions, like being an athlete or a firefighter, mean a lot of work up front before you'll ever get hired- but they are pretty good jobs once you do. Others, like driving a recycling truck, are pretty easy to get into but you pay the price that the job demands forever after. I think I am naturally drawn to the former type of job, and can happily trot around the track in the fresh morning air knowing I much prefer paying a little now than a lot later.

As a father of two young girls, I really hope that they will not be unnecessarily discriminated against on the basis of their gender or race. I would like to teach them that, merit, and not sex or skin colour, is what's important. Unfortunately, in their attempt to correct past issues, one local fire department seems to be hiring based on sexist/racist criteria. They recently announced that they would only hire white males for their fire department if they could not fill all of their vacancies with women or minorities. Although I understand the desire to have a civil work force more reflective of the population, it's hard to believe that this is the best approach to making changes. At the most recent firefighting test that I was at (with a different department), I did not see one candidate that wasn't a white male. Not one. Of the six hundred or so candidates that routinely apply to local departments, I would venture to guess that there are less than 50 that aren't white males. In response to this, this department stated that they would be willing to pay for the training of non-white male candidates if need be. While there are hundreds of applicants, who have spent thousands of dollars of their own money and a countless amount of time and energy to position themselves for the job, it appears they are the wrong race/gender. That is a questionable message in any profession, but particularly so in firefighting. Although firefighting can be a cushy job at times, it is one of the few professions where society asks people to take a calculated risk with their life in order to save other people. Firefighters have 2 important tools at their disposal to keep them safe. Firstly, they use top of the line personal protective equipment to keep them safe from a harsh environment. Secondly, they have a crew who they depend on with their lives should anything go wrong. If there is any job in the world that should be based on merit, it is firefighting. Fire doesn't care what colour or gender you are. When something goes wrong at a fire, being strong and fit, intelligent and skilled are all that matter.

A good read

I love this old picture of Molly. Looks like she found a good read!

Yesterday I went to the inaugural meeting of the new non-fiction book club that my friend Sam has started. At my prompting, we all read the hilarious AJ Jacobs book, "The -Know-It-All: One man's quest to become the smartest man in the world".

The most interesting part of the discussion that ensued had to do with the nature of intelligence. What makes us smart? Is it retention of fact? The ability to synthesize information into well-informed opinion? Being able to read people and situations well? These were all forwarded as possible sources of intelligence, but as a group we had a hard time pinpointing the true essence of intelligence. I found this pretty interesting.

Another interesting discovery: we all named someone we found to be incredibly intelligent, and out of seven of us, not one of us came up with a woman. Seven women gathered and not until we had all chosen did one of us realize that our list was entirely composed of men. Hmmm. For the record, my candidate for Mr. El-Supremo-Smart-Pants was Tony Blair. Not exactly inspired, but if you listen to him speak during Question Time in the British Parliament, boy...can that guy talk! And not blabby, useless chatter like me. Smart talk.

Eric's take on yoga

It's funny (if you can consider pain, limited range of motion and total lack of ability to be funny) how easily our perceptions of reality can change by putting ourselves in a new environment. For all of my years playing basketball, I considered myself to have adequate strength and flexibility- at least good enough to play at a competitive level of sport. Although never the very strongest or most pliable, I could always compare myself favorably to at least half the guys on any given team. I continually pushed my limits with lots of work on the court, in the weight room, around the track and doing plyometrics and agility drills. I would even oblige my body with a cursory stretch after training. With all of this work, I felt strong and healthy- reality number 1. However, after recently taking on a 30 day Yoga challenge, where I try to attend a class every day for a month, a new reality has set in. Although I may still have strength and flexibility in my comfort zone, as soon as I step out of this area I am extremely weak and limited. Something as simple as sitting cross-legged on the floor can be challenging and painful. As the rest of the class advances in the pose, to fold their chests down to their crossed feet, I am left to contemplate how long I will be able to endure the discomfort I am feeling just sitting upright. My chest is only 2 and a half feet from the floor, but it seems like a mile to me today! The good news, however, is that I am slowly making progress, getting increased range of motion and feeling better in the process. I doubt I will ever be sticking my toes in my mouth, but why would I want to.

Lucas seems to enjoy this activity, but I'll stick to a hockey game, followed by a beer and of course a good long stretch.

Going Fishy

Yesterday the Butler McKnights hit the Vancouver Aquarium. The girls haven't been to the Aquarium since before Lukey was born, so they were really looking forward to seeing it again. Plus, Molly has expressed some major concerns about the workmanship of her purple sea otter cup that we got last time...oh the horror, the sea otter decal came off a little bit after 123,876 cycles through the dishwasher. She asked me to have a word with the store people. And darn it all, she forgot and so did I (more or less...actually, less me forgetting and more her...like totally her...I was NOT going to ream out some poor store clerk for faulty otter decals...).

Eric was volunteering yesterday so we went with my mom and dad. So, there we are: three adults and three kids in a crazy, busy space. Now, who do you think was the hardest to keep track of? The four year old? Good guess. Molly was entranced by the fish and her curiosity did pull her in a few errant directions. Overall though, she was very responsible. Second guess has to be the two year old, right? Finny has a pretty short attention span, but she listens pretty well at the moment and stuck close to me. Now you are scratching your head...who else could be trouble? Lukey was in the Baby Bjorn attached to my chest, so no wandering off for him. Well, who does that leave? If you know my family, this isn't a tough one at all...my dad.

Dad's the one you check over your shoulder for. One minute, he's harassing us for loitering too long in front of the seahorses. The next, he won't budge from the piranhas. We headed outside for the dolphin show, but after waiting about three minutes for it to start, Dad gets restless. The two and four year olds are waiting patiently. Dad starts to get twitchy. The kids are still glued to the railing. Dad's eye starts to wander. With approximately 45 seconds to go before the show starts, Dad declares that he is heading over to see the belugas. I almost gave him a three count (just kidding, Dad...although I might try it if I thought it had a prayer of working...).

We had a great time. The kids enjoyed the trip, especially with their Gram and Granddad. We went back to my parents' place for dinner, which ironically was fish. Kind of a tough sell for Molly after a day spent celebrating the majesty of...fish. She ate her beans and potatoes.

A tough week...

The service for Alli on Saturday was beautiful. The speakers paid such loving tribute to Alli and Eric's slide show was perfect (though hard to watch). The kids were all very well behaved, no doubt sensing the importance of the situation. Molly and Finny were called up at the end of the service by the minister and asked to choose one flower each from the arrangements at the front. He cut the flowers and put them in little bags for the girls to take home. It was a lovely thing to do and the girls were both very happy to be included.

We also spend a couple of hours after the church back at Alli's house. There was lots to eat and good conversation and company, but the house just didn't feel the same without Alli in it. Leaving was hard.

We spend a nice, quiet weekend with family. We went down to Point Roberts on Saturday night and Eric's family came down on Sunday for the day. We didn't come back until Monday.

Yesterday was Eric's birthday. We didn't do too much but we did have a nice day.

And so, back to real life. The chores that were neglected have to be attended to and meals have to be made. Lots of laundry to do and clutter to tidy. But all over the house are flowers. And heartbreaking questions from little girls who don't quite understand. A reminder that our family has changed.

Alli

A memorial for Alli is being held this Saturday (March 3rd) at 2 pm in Ladner. It will take place at the Ladner United Church, 4960 48th Avenue, Delta. We will be gathering in the room attached to the church after the service to further celebrate Alli's life. Anyone is welcome to join us for either of these events.

While this has been a difficult and sad time, our family has been doing well and we appreciate the support of our family and friends.

Allison Butler came into the world on a beautiful warm August day in 1972 and has been like a ray of sunshine ever since. She had an indomitable spirit, so strong that nothing this world would send her way could suppress her smile.

Alli was an athletic, intelligent, imaginative girl who loved life. She was a fantastic older sister, daughter and friend. Her self-confidence and humour drew people to her at an early age and she became a centre of her family and community.

The accident in 1983 brought a lot of pain and suffering to Alli and those in her life. And yet, through this tragedy Alli's irrepressable spirit shone on and found a way to touch many people's lives. People who knew nothing of the gregarious, beautiful little girl who Alli had been found themselves touched by her. They recognized and admired Alli's strength, courage and love of life, which allowed her to live another 24 years.

Perhaps nothing displayed the strength of Alli's spirit more than the way she died early Tuesday morning. While losing a battle with a chest infection, Alli had to fight hard just to breath a couple of times a minute. With sheer will and determination, Alli held on for hours until all of her family could be around to say goodbye. Minutes after this happened, she just let go. Alli had a difficult journey but it wasn't in vain. She left behind a wake of energy in the lives of many people. Her strength, happiness, and love of life will live on through her family and friends.

I am proud she was my big sister.

So, I guess the plague is contagious

I learned two new things about the flu this last week.
1. It is contagious. I guess I knew that but our house has been like a mini science experiment and we are all contaminated petri dishes.
2. The flu does different things to different people.

I learned three things about my children.

1. Finny gets ear infections. She gets this from my brother who routinely went down with ear infections as a child. Oh boy, did he ever cry like a baby (to be fair, he was a baby...)
2. Molly is a puker. She gets this from me. I have always been great friends with Ralph. I sat her down and let her know where this beautiful genetic gift came from. I taught her the lessons of The Puker. The negative part of this vomitous predisposition is that you will spend a lot of time puking (that seems obvious). The benefit is that you become so inured to it that you become that seemingly impossible thing: the graceful puker. That's right. Instead of freaking out or crying, I (and soon Molly too) can just lean over, sweep my hair out of the way and technicolour yawn like nobody's business. I then delicately wipe my face and help myself to another burrito. This skill comes in handy during the university years, although I didn't impart that to Molly just yet...
3. Lukey is a trooper. His inability to breathe through his nose finally made him upset, but only when it got the point of panic when he couldn't really draw a breath. I had him at Children's hospital on Friday on the advice of our family doctor. They were also impressed with his friendly disposition, particularly given his level of discomfort. He almost broke the nurse's heart when he smiled up at her right before she suctioned his nose. FYI, that looks like an uncomfortable procedure.

Eric has also semi-succumbed to the bug but I keep telling him that he hasn't seen the half of it yet. It's a fun game because every time he complains, I roll my eyes and tell him he had better enjoy this stage because it gets worse before it gets better. I love the stricken expression he rewards me with each time I say it. I however, am on the mend. There's a little glimmer of hope for those of you coming down with the flu...a quick three weeks and you'll be right back in the game.

The plague, the plague!

Before you send the health authorities over to forcefully quarantine our house, it MIGHT not be the ACTUAL plague. It might just be the flu. But it has hit Finny hard. Last night I was downstairs enriching my mind watching Studio 60 (apparently I am the only one that does...) when I heard a delusional little voice protesting, "Me not a baby. Not a baby. Me not..." I went upstairs to investigate and found Finny thrashing around on the floor, every single hair on her head stuck to her face with sweat. Her fever was over 103. Remember when you were a little kid and you felt sick or had a midnight confession to make? You go downstairs to another world...a tidier, quieter grown-up world. So I brought Finny down into my peaceful calm. We poured her some Gatorade, with a straw of course. Made her a nest on the couch. Mopped her wet brow and talked crazy late night talk. It was kind of fun.

I placed a quick call to Mr. First-Aid (Eric) who was at work, just to make sure that I shouldn't be rushing her to the hospital. You always have that vision in your head...you know, of the inquest after everything goes wrong: "You are telling me, Ms. McKnight, that you TRULY thought GATORADE would cure meningitis? Well, you can think over the wisdom of that course of action IN PRISON..."

Eventually we all went up to my bed where Lukey and I slept in Finny's salty puddle o' sweat. She appears to be on the mend today. As I type, she is using the toilet roll holder (you know the thing with the spring that goes through the roll?) to stir pretend soup. So I guess the next illness will be the bacterial infection that she gets from touching that disgusting thing.

E- Recycling on a whole different scale!

Posts written by Eric will have an "E" in the title...

This is a picture that Colin Jones, a friend who I work with, took of Vancouver. The original photo, in high resolution, is one of the best I have seen of the city.

Speaking of this beautiful city, we seem to have a number of friends who are thinking of moving away to the quiet of the Gulf Islands or the Sunshine Coast. One of the draw -backs is the cost of trying to build in such remote locations. This company,Nickel Brothers , that our neighbour works for has a unique solution to this problem that is a great example of a win-win-win situation. They take old houses otherwise slated for demolition, put them on a flatbed before shipping them by barge to the final destination. The owner of the original home owner is happy because he has saved on demolition costs. The new owner gets a perfectly good house for as little as $30,000, a fraction of what it would cost to build in these locations. The company makes some good money, all the while saving tons of materials from the landfill.

First conversation I had this morning...

Scene: Me, getting dressed for the day. Finny, standing beside me.

F: Mumma lots of moles on back (tone of disgust). Yucky.

M: Ummm. That's true (slightly saddened expression on face)

F: Sorry Mumma. Sorry for saying yucky...

M: That's ok Finny (which it is, but barely). You can tell mummy if you think something is yucky. You think they are yucky?

F: (long hesitation...note of desperate confession with accompanying sad nod) Kinda Mumma. Kinda nice. Kinda yucky. Sorry.

What's up with this?

Yesterday was Valentine's Day (if you didn't know that, the odds are good you pissed someone off). My parents were kind enough to take the girls off our hands for most of the day. We dropped them off and then were sort of mystified by what to do next. Two things were mystifying: one, how hard could it really be to think of something nice to do? two, how the heck did it happen that being solely responsible for a 15 pound, helpless, needy, pooping, slobbering baby feels like free time?

I went for coffee. We watched a movie at home. Then we went for dinner and watched the Canucks game. Maybe we aren't winning any awards for romance (do they give romance awards?) but it was a very pleasant day nonetheless.

I took Lukey for his shots on Tuesday. Doctors no longer have to administer shots in today's day and age. This filthy and time consuming task (read the dripping sarcasm here) has been farmed out to the Community Health nurses. Falling within the downtown catchment, which is strange, we had to hike over to Hornby and Drake to a super-urban facility. And when I say urban, what I mean is scary. It took me ten minutes to find the right room, after passing a needle exchange, a drug counseling clinic, an addiction study room, and an AIDS/HIV centre to find the teeny tiny little room where they inoculate newborns. Yeah, I thought it was weird too. Then Lukey was subjected to four needles; two in each leg. Hopefully it was the necessary immunization and not methadone or AZT...

me making work for myself...

Saturday Eric was home from work. The whole day was free. What do you do? Relax? Veg out? Push the husband and kids out the door to nurse the plague that befell me on Wednesday (no kidding...I'm not much of a whiner but holy crow, having the flu really does suck. I always secretly figured flu-shot takers were wussy people. I mean, deal with it you hot house flowers. But I might be coming around. Might be. No, not quite. They are wussy. Suck it up.).

Anyway, instead of taking a wise and self-preservational course of immune boosting, I decided to play the hero. I let Eric sleep since he was coming off two night shifts. I took the three kids to the Arbutus Club for open gym. I watched Molly and Finny torque around a gym in Little Tyke cars. Bizarrely, their favourite activity is playing drive thru. They come up to me in a line and order fast food. I take their money and pretend to misunderstand their orders: "Two ostrich burgers, hold the mustard but extra bird poop, two sewage salads with fecal dressing and one mucas shake...(cue childish laughter)...what do you mean you just wanted fries? That will be twenty five gabagillion dollars please..." This is good for endless fun.

Once the drive thru closed due to a devastating e coli infestation (or the playgroup was finished and we had to leave...whatever), Eric met us to take the girls skating. We took a couple of spins around the rink. It took about twice as long to get them outfitted for skating as they actually spent on the ice. Have you ever tried to get gloves on a two year old? No sooner do you wrangle in the pointer finger than the the ring finger has slipped back in with the pinky...man, is that ever annoying!

Then, a bite to eat. Then the girls and Eric went swimming while Lukey and I kept our germs to ourselves over coffee. And, because it was a beautiful, mild Vancouver day, we threw in a quick walk on the beach for good measure. And it was only 3:30.

Today I started painting our downstairs bathroom. I want it to be red and the lady at Home Depot said to expect six coats of paint. I have done two. So far, it doesn't look good. Anyone have any words of wisdom?

Peaceful evening

This is my couch companion. Eric went out bowling and I was left to watch the Office and ER with this little person. Unlike Eric, he was happy to hear me talk about plot lines and sitcom gossip. Alright, he was asleep the whole time, and Eric would be too. But Eric would have a scowl on his sleepy face, whereas Lukey is smiling a little bit. At least in my imagination.

The real deal

An example of a bad picture and an ok picture...how to you get three people looking so bad at the same time?




It's official. I am now the real mother of three small people. Why do I make this sudden statement now, more than two months after Lucas was born? At first there is some novelty. It seems like a big deal to take the new baby anywhere, even up a flight of stairs ("Oh Lucas, only your eighth time up stairs...who's going upstairs? What a big stair guy, going up the stairs...", you get the idea). Then you make a few tentative forays into the public world, maybe in stages with various combinations of kids.

Then, one day you realize that the testing stage is over. No more excuses that you have a new baby. No more denying that toting three kids around everywhere is your new life. In short, reality.

Having said that, reality is pretty great. Yesterday, the four of us (Eric was working) hit the road in the morning and came home right before dinner. We took Lukey to the doctor, where they continue to chart his porcine growth with interest. Then it was off to a family-friendly screening of "Happy Feet" at the Ridge Theatre. Despite some initial misgivings about the wisdom of taking three kids under five to a two+ hour movie (picture this: ten minutes in, Finny turns to me and says, "This is a long, long, long, long, long show. Me no watch. Me go Gram's house now". She ended up being great for the long haul even though the look on my face at that moment must have been hilarious...), everyone had a good time. With the possibly exception of me. I won't review the movie here, but suffice to say I have some issues with the message of a pretty bizarre film.

So, in summary: three kids = good. Especially when you have three good kids.


In other news, Eric's embarkation into the world of skates and sticks has been pretty successful. Last night the god of hockey smiled as he allowed Eric to score four goals in a row at his game last night. Not bad for the rookie. They lost the game 7-5. However, his teammates initial delight at his achievement turned to ridicule when he failed to celebrate post-game by turning himself into a beer soaked puddle. Sidenote: it's funny how people indulge in alcohol after sports play...you do well, then you kill enough brain cells to ensure that the same feat will be more difficult to duplicate. Hmmmm.

organic veggies galore!

What is better than fresh, organic fruit and veggies delivered directly to your door?

Alright, there are quite a few things better...a lot actually, but this is very nice.

Every two weeks we get a Rubbermaid bin filled with fruit and veg dropped off on our front porch. It is like going out on your farm and collecting all the bounty of the earth, fresh and glistening from the fields. Except your farm would have to be spread out between here and Mexico...and it would take a long time to harvest all these things anyway. Not that I could grow them considering I kill houseplants (seriously, Home Depot guarantees their plants for a year, no matter what kills them...they wish I had never darkened their door). Okay, so it really is less of a pastoral farm experience and more like tupperware on my porch, but it does feel good to have so many green things in my house.

I went to visit little Hannah again tonight and took over a pot of chili to fortify the parents of our new niece. She is just as cute as I remember. Tomorrow, the girls and Luke and I are going to an all-family screening of Happy Feet. The Ridge theatre opens to families with kids and has a special showing where no one can complain about errant child-noise disturbing the movie. Can you imagine an event more horrifying to non-parent people? I sure cannot. Wouldn't want to wander into that nightmare by mistake.

Welcome Hannah Maria Sturm

Yesterday night we got a new family member. Eric's sister and her partner Sven had a baby girl via C-section at BC Women's Hospital last night at 11 pm. Overjoyed to go to the hospital for some reason other than sharp labour pains of my own, all five of us went this afternoon to meet Hannah. Boy, the place sure does have a different vibe when it isn't you going through childbirth. Waaaaay more relaxed. Plus, it was amazing to see the difference two months of growth make...Lucas looked HUGE next to the newborn. Man, does that kid of mine ever have a big melon.

Hannah is a very cute little girl and we are very happy to have a new niece/cousin. We wish Mandy and Sven a joyous adjustment to parenthood. May the wee one sleep and sleep and sleep.

Doing crafts with kids

There are two kinds of crafts you can do with kids:

1. Total Chaos.
The kids have complete control of crayons, markers, glue, sparkles etc. The end product is something you discard. You compliment them. You tell them you love it. You might even put it on the fridge...for, like, six hours. But make no mistake. You will throw it away. If you can even pry the gluey monstrosity off of the table in one piece (fairly unlikely).

2. Organized Chaos.
You have an idea of what you want the children to make. There may even be "instructions". You assemble the necessary equipment, possibly even requiring a trip to a store to purchase a specific colour of pipe cleaner. You try your hardest to massage the kids into following the "instructions". Then you will settle for fulfillment of modified instructions, then just one, one little instruction. Then you give up and make it yourself. And either tell them that they made it, or if all else fails, that you made it for them. Then you throw it away.

This observation is prompted by my attempt to do a "dry run" on valentines. I tried to see what would be most realistic to expect the girls to make themselves (the answer? none. none, none, none). I ambitiously embarked on a woven paper heart shaped basket. Not only could they not do it, I couldn't do it. It took me about an hour to finally coax together something like a woven paper heart shaped basket. And then I gave it to Finny and told her I made it just for her...