Scrapbook

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Last night the boys had a boy scout meeting. I am still leery of the scouts because of their recent history of discrimination. (Irrationally Offended Liberal White Girl is just dying to make an appearance at a meeting but, thus far, she hasn’t been provoked.) But, it’s been all crafts and hikes. Nothing offensive, per say.

At last night’s meeting we were told to supply the kids with pictures to make a scrapbook. (Progressive or fall back craft when it’s too cold to go outside? I couldn’t quite tell.) So, I sat in the corner with my crocheting while the boys dug through a folder of snapshots I gave them and worked on their books. I noticed other parents hovering over their boys, cutting things out for them, telling them where to glue things, critiquing their sticker choices. My guys seemed pretty independent so, I was just letting them do their thing. I felt weirdly guilty that I wasn’t helping them because…was I supposed to? Did I mis-read the leader? Does she want this to be a family activity? Is there like a prize for the best scrapbook and the other parents are hyper-competitive and want their kid to win? Every once in a while I would ask the boys if they needed any help and they would ignore me. They were moving along just fine on their own.

I watched one little boy get yelled at for putting a sticker his mom didn’t like on a picture and I realized, we really were doing just fine. I don’t need to micro manage their craft like THAT. There was no prize for the best book. And, honestly, I liked seing the ones with crayon writing and crooked pictures more than the ones the moms dictated.

At the end of the meeting, the boys presented me with their books. They did all the work themselves and they were very proud. Well, Peter did cut out one of his soccer pictures, put cowboy boots on it and replaced the soccer ball with a foam sticker that looked like a pistol, but I chose to not judge that. And Robert may have chopped off his father’s head in one picture to turn him in to a zombie, but he did all the cutting himself and the lines were nice and straight! I didn’t need to be a helicopter parents, hovering and “helping” for my boys to get something done.

I was feeling pretty smug about that. I should know better because something always bites me when I do that.

While I was musing on that, Robert volunteered us to bring snack for the next meeting and the smug went away. Oh, biscuits. I have officially run out of ideas and I can’t slap a cowboy boot sticker on something and be lauded as creative like some people!

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