Camp Crap

Last week Paige went to her first Day Camp. We were a little nervous (and by "we," I mean "I").

Obviously NOT nervous

New school, all new kids, the subject of gardening ... none of these are things I enjoy, or in which I really excel.

Sure, I can fake being excited to meet new people, but oftentimes social gatherings make my stomach churn. And you can admire my potted plants at my house, but really they are just hanging baskets put into pots. Don't get me wrong - I cut the wires off the basket part. I'm not a moron - just lazy and incredibly inept at keeping plants alive.

People and pets? I'm all over it. Plants? I will most certainly kill you.

So, I'm not going to lie. I was sort of hoping Paige would come home each day chock-full of gardening wisdom she could pass along to me. For God's sake - the camp was called 'Green Thumb Cubs.' I can tell you she had a decent time. Each day at pick up she said she had fun, but that she "didn't LOVE it, Mommy." (I suspect that had more to do with her bestie being in a different class, but that has been remedied for the next session).

What did I pick up each day instead? A sweaty, cranky toddler and a bookbag full of crafts ... I mean, crap. You all know we've had issues with this distinction before, but honestly, I sort of suspected things to be a bit more "crafty" in my terms, and less "crappy" in Paige's. Here are a couple examples of items discovered in Paige's backpack (or, 'packpack,' as she calls it):

A "nature wreath" ... I'm guessing? It came with zero information about it, the teacher was busy reading a book when I picked Paige up, and Paige provided nothing to help me decide what it was.

Um ... a rubber glove. Each "digit" is filled with a little cotton and some seeds. Again, Paige didn't know what it was (clearly money well-spent) and I kid you not when I tell you that the note attached says that the 'seeds included MAY sprout into plants.' That will be hard to check. Unless we head to the landfill.

Seriously. They are as crappy as they look in the pictures. In fact, the pictures are sort of over-glamifying them (I might have just made that word up - if so, I call dibs. It's awesome).

And honestly - I'm not a horrible mom. I LOVE when I get projects, and couldn't wait for the day Paige brought home cute little items and gave them to me with a sticky kiss and shouts "Look what I made for you!!" I have binders for my kids' artwork, and I regularly rotate displays so they can see their things. Okay, just Paige has artwork. But Blair DOES have a binder. Which I'm sure we will fill with crafts once she starts school and someone is willing to clean up the mess she will most certainly make with whatever adorable item she makes for me.

Anywho. I thought to myself, "Self. Let's cut them some slack. They had a classroom full of 3-5 year-olds, and they probably tried to pick crap crafts that were easy for all involved, and relatively quick to make. Also, they probably wanted to do things the kids could explain to their parents. Thus improving the significant parent-child interaction after camp each day." (I may or may not just sound that intelligent in my head. If I tried to tell someone else this it would probably sound like "What the hell is this crap?").

Granted, Paige was so tired every day that she was pretty much a sealed vault regarding information about camp. So, yesterday Paige walked into the kitchen and I pointed to the nature wreath (?) proudly displayed on our bulletin board.

M: "Paige, tell me a little more about this nature wreath you made at camp last week."
P: "What nature wreath?"
M: "This one right here. That we put up after camp last week. With the sticks, dried leaves, and dead grass glued to it."
P: Eyeing the wreath skeptically. "Mommy, I have no idea what that is. Mrs. Watsons (Mrs. Watson) told me to make it, so I glued those things on it."
M: "Oh, but it's so pretty, isn't it?" (No, it's not)
P: Looking at me like I'm a crazy person. "No, it's not."

Wreath, meet our trash compactor.

Paige, you have no idea how rewarding it is (sometimes) to have a mini-me let me know my thinking is on the right track. Even if my mini-me happens to be 3.