Nauseating Self-Ego Stroking Post

DISCLAIMER:

In the past two days, I have been sooooo impressed with myself. I have been crafting like a last gasp of air, which it very well might be. Please keep in mind, while reading the next few posts, that my kitchen is at a very sub par level of cleanliness (I am in a dishwasher loading stand-of with Craig), my quilting room (where Craig sleeps) looks like a disaster site and I did not get dressed today until 3:00. Plus I have been unbearably bossy and queen like, which makes me miserable to be around. NOTE: Craig sleeps in the quilting room not because of the dishwasher standoff but because I am too restless at night for him to get any rest in bed with me.

So while I look awesome and don't mind talking about it, rest assured knowing that Owen wore the same tee-shirt for over 24 hours straight today.


Scenario one:
When I was four, I remember begging to be picked up from Y We Care during naptime, because another little boy whose parents did this regularly got to play with the toys (specifically: the kitchen) all by himself. I coveted his life. I have been dying to get Owen a kitchen, but my "cottage" (read: very small house) will not allow it. No matter how I try, it is not happening unless I get rid of a major piece of furniture, which will do nothing for my storage problems.

Scenario two:
Friday morning playdate- deluge, four kids, one migraine, one pregnancy, possibly one mild hangover, and not enough coffee in the world. One of the kids (okay, it was mine) has developed a new habit of screaming (piercingly) "MINE!!!!! OWEN HAVE IT!!!!!" while snatching a toy from Frankie and running in a circuit down the hall, through the kitchen, around the dining room table and in a never ending loop through the kitchen-dining room- living room circle. All while I weakly try to focus and threaten a time out like I mean it, which he knows is futile because I can't actually catch him. Frankie has never been a girl to take ANYTHING lying down (one of the things I love about her) and is protesting the theft in an equally high pitched toddler voice. Preschool teachers of twos classes? Next time we meet in a bar, it's on me.

Desperation set in, and I flipped a toy box on its side, covered it with a blanket, and told the kids it was a kitchen. Frankie wasn't sure at first, as she has an awesome kitchen at home, but (god bless her) Bronwyn went to town, and the twos soon followed her lead. Bronwyn (age 3) told the kids it was a stove and they would get burned if they sat on it (this is prompted by Owen's butt sitting right on her counter/ stove area, but she kept her cool), and they were happy until it was time to leave. (At least, pretty much. There was an extended stethoscope/ doctor session, and Owen was more interested in establishing dominance and possesion over his toys than playing with them, but eventually pops were had by all and a relative peace ensued.)

I was entranced by how easily imaginative kids accepted "box covered with blue blanket is kitchen" scenario, and having recently been inspired by Cool Spaces for Kids, today I turned this:




into this:


Its coolness belies its simplicity. A spring rod, a wooden box from IKEA clearance, fabric scraps, canvas, and ultra heat n' bond. Done. Kitchen supplies are stored inside, and if Owen plays with it as much as I hope he will, I will satin stitch the edges. Right now it is simply ironed on.

My biggest fear? Lucy will lurk inside and attack unsuspecting toddlers/chihuahuas/ankles. She is already practicing.