Glitter glitter everywhere

Ever since the Valentine's Day party at Peyton's school, she has been bitching at me to do more crafts - specifically ones that involve glitter.

Kill me.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all about crafts. I can hot glue with the best of them, and much to my friends' dismay, I enjoy hand-making Christmas card and birthday party invites. But as Ellen Degeneres so perfectly described, glitter is not only dangerous, but evil. Once Peyton and I glittered pumpkins before Halloween. That was more than two years ago and I'm still finding glitter in the grout in my tile floor and in my rug.

But how could I possible deny my only child the joy of sprinkling sparkling goodness all over some meaningless craft that will no doubt end up cluttering a corner of the house for months, until I decide to throw it away when she isn't home, hoping against all hopes that she a) forgets it existed and b) doesn't see it crumpled in the bottom of the trash?

Still in the running for mother of the year, I busted her out of school early on a Friday, set up a table outside in the grass (it's like 80 degrees here, east coast readers) and let her glitter away.

She globbed glue on paper plates, foam shapes, and herself, and shook the glitter jars with gusto. She was in the zone, to say the least.


Determination. Concentration. Glitter.

And now, every morning as the sun comes up, my grass shimmers.