Big wonders. Little boy.

Okay, so there was no attack of a 500' boy. Just maybe an attack of a year-end school project, which is bad enough. We have done little else this weekend except fight our way through a checklist of rather obtuse instructions and leave a path of notecards, plaster splotches and construction paper in our wake. I have used the Big Three in the parenting tool box to get this beast killed: 1. Bribery, 2. Stern voice-sterner voice-sternest voice, 3. Threats ("Why is the sea lion important? Well, be the sea lion, Jack, be the sea lion. I'll feed you whole raw fish so you can be the sea lion."). And repeat: bribe, stern voice, sterner voice, sternest voice, threaten, bribe, stern voice...



To lend this a bit of perspective, please guess which backpack belongs to my son. Just take a guess. A hint: I love my son, but he is a bit too much like me. If you guessed the backpack on the ground in the middle of the path when there are plenty of empty hooks available, you will have guessed correctly.

Oh, now, for as much as I am required by the ancient laws of motherhood to nag the child, I am extremely proud of him. The kid made this plaster diorama almost entirely on his own. My part was just to bake some Fimo sea lions and, of course, to nag, "Wait until it dries. No. Wait. Wait until it dries. Wait!"



I think this scene looks pretty darn realistic. The "rock" of the cliff is the color of our coast. The sea lions do lay around like that in big mammalian clumps ("Rookeries, mom. Rookeries."). He's got itty-bitty cola cans made from bits of drinking straw and aluminum foil floating in the water and candy wrappers littered in the bushes. The kid's nine. Maybe all nine-year-olds can do this. I didn't know my nine-year-old could do this until this weekend.



Too much mommy-boasting? It's my blog. I roll like that. Nag/boast/nag/boast/blog. It could be a parenting strategy. Sort of. I'll let you know how it turns out. This is what I have to work with. Seal boy. ("Sea lion boy, mom. Sea lion.").