The One with 20 Tiny Log Cabins

This actually happened. A couple of years later, when I laugh about this story with my son, he looks at me with that deer-in-the-headlights-look as if he still doesn’t understand why this is so hilarious. Men.

He was 13, and the Facebook post went kinda like this:
Darling Boy: Mom? Do you have clay, spray paint, a cardboard box, glue, and can you help me make 20 miniature log cabins out of real sticks?
Me: Oh *&@#. Is this due tomorrow?
Ever So Darling Boy: Yeah- so, do ya? And can you type fast?

In no time, I dismantled a train set, a Lego set, and a bulletin board. I arranged a hundred frilly toothpicks to look like trees and built a paper dock and tiny boats. I set up log cabins made with toothpicks and a crafted a rocky beach out of real rocks. Remembering briefly this was HIS project, I put him in charge of…glue. We soon beheld a magnificent graphic map of an imaginary island and its hearty inhabitants who, sustained by the ocean and their rich cultural traditions, were sure to astonish the teacher and the whole junior high.

I got a B.

I mean, he got a B.

It was a hostile takeover, and I had taken a prisoner. Darling Boy learned a valuable lesson. He learned that I would shoulder the burden of responsibility and all he had to do was nod and glue.

Middle schools have lists of learning outcomes for their students, and “Expects parents to craft and complete school projects” is not one of them. I KNEW this. I was a high school teacher myself, but I did the project anyway. I was weak. (And secretly I actually LIKE building these things. I kind of want to do all their dioramas and projects because I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS. Pathetic.)

Once, for sort of a job interview, I used this story to write a little how-to essay on what parents should do to help their children do these kinds of projects themselves. It was obnoxious. Here’s part of what I wrote. Insert your own gag responses:

To avoid over-helping your student, because let’s face it, the last time you built an island the rest of your family had toast for dinner, nobody did the dishes and the baby went to bed at 10 p.m., follow this simple, sage advice. (Oh. My. God. I am the worst. THE worst. "sage advice?" I would hate me.)

1. Create a time line with your child. Even if this is a dreaded last minute “it’s due tomorrow” assignment, a time line will diffuse anxiety. If you have only two hours, you need to get the most out of those two hours. To create a time line, ask your child to outline the steps he or she must take in order to finish the project. Assign a firm deadline to each of these steps. Agree upon a set number of times you will check on the project’s progress. Don’t allow the “checkpoints” to exceed 5 minutes. (Puke. I have never done this successfully. What a load.)

2. Create a quiet space for your child, point him or her in the direction of the craft supplies, set a timer and walk away. (No! Don’t! Go build the island! If you don’t he might make a really crappy one and it will look terrrrrible!!)

3. No really, you can do it, walk away. (Oh, no. No, I can’t. Pack of lies.)

4. Praise your child’s hard work. (Yep. I do this. He can really glue!)

Then I wrote a bunch of crap about how junior high isn’t just a tricky place for kids to start growing up; it’s a time when parents have to adjust to letting their kids grow up…blah blah blah. It was terrible, but writing the essay was a catalyst for me to actually try letting my kids grow up. I didn’t have an epiphany after I built the damn island. No, I had it after reading my little essay about it and realizing my advice was just wishful thinking about tips I never followed myself. After the essay, I actually started to try and let go.

Oh wait, I built the Cathedral of Notre Dame out of diaper boxes first, and THEN I started letting go.

Well, it’s more of a two-year plan to start letting go.

I’m still working on it.