When Will I EVER Learn

It all started innocently enough.

Weeks ago, A. came into the living room where I was reading to tell me that she was having bad dreams (although she'd only been in her bed a matter of moments and never really fell asleep).

I must point out that this has become a common occurence in our house.

So anyways, that night I told her to tell the bad dreams to "go away. You're not the boss of me!" She said okay, went to bed and came back less than 10 minutes later.

"The monsters won't listen to me."

Thinking myself to be very clever, I remembered she was sleeping with her princess blanket. And Disney princesses are magical, right?

Me: "Well, tell the monster that if it doesn't leave you alone, the princesses will beat them up."

A: "But, it won't go away!"

Me: "Just try it, okay?"

Silence.

Seconds later, compliance.

And minutes later, she returns.

Of course.

At a complete and total loss as to what to do, I racked my brain for something- anything I could use to get her to make the monsters go away and her stay in bed for the rest of the night.

Ah-ha!

A dream catcher!

Feeling quite pleased with myself for being so brilliant, I promised her we would go to Michael's and find some things to make a dream catcher the next day. I explained to her that it catches the bad dreams and only lets the good ones through the netting. Satisfied with this response, A. agreed to go back to bed and stay there and hold the monsters at bay for one more night.

So the next day we go go Michael's and because I hate buying things like this just for A., I bought a Dream Catcher kit for S., too. Not a terrible idea, though, since she seems to be catching onto the whole "I'll just keep coming out of my room and tell mama I'm having bad dreams until she decides to let me sleep on the couch and/or sleep with me" bug.

I promise you, I did look at the directions on the back before we bought them and it didn't look terribly difficult. It turns out I conveniently ignored the "6+" label as the appropriate age group. Because sometimes the girls can play with things meant for older kids provided there isn't anything to choke on. A.'s past the age of shoving things in her mouth but S. is just getting started (yes, at 3 years old. I know!).

I pay for the kits and we go home to make their dream catchers.

You know what I took out of the box?

A silver ring, a thin purple suede ribbon, some beads and feathers and this flossy type string. I look at the front of the box and notice the (finished) dream catcher is wrapped with the purple suede ribbon. I look back at the contents. The ring and the ribbon were two separate pieces coming out of the box.

Ooooh-kay.

I took out the directions and saw that I had to wrap the ring with the suede ribbon myself, securing the ends with glue.

Alrighty then. How hard could that be?

Yeah, well- it took me more than 10 minutes to wrap that damn ring because the suede ribbon was so thin and I had to keep readjusting. But finally it gets done and satisfied, I move on. I consulted the directions again and notice the nice netting in the ring on the box. I don't have a net to attach to the ring. It turns out, this flossy string- I'm supposed to create the netting by wrapping loosely around the edges of the ring and then wrapping through the loops over and over till we get to the middle.

Fuck.

I grab the flossy string and begin looping it per instructions. It looks like shit but I keep going. Then I began the second round of looping. It still looks like shit. I look back and forth between the box and the dream-catcher-in-progress in my hand. All the while, the girls are pestering me about finishing it, and telling me, "you have to put in the beads and feathers."

Yes, I know that.

Clearly, I am incompetent. In addition, I'm not moving fast enough for them.

After a half hour trying to create a dream catcher net, I give up. I am nowhere near being finished and there's no earthly way the girls can manage this themselves if we want them to be done before they graduate high-school. But I'm so fed up with it already that I just undo the netting, pack everything up and promise to get to it again… some other day.

Of course, in preschool-speak, "some other day" means "now".

The girls are upset that I'm giving up on the dream catcher so soon, and I'm upset with myself for creating not only more "work" for myself, but now a whole new drama because I know they will continue to tearfully admonish me for not finishing their dream catcher soon enough to make the bad dreams go away.

"Sorry, guys," I say. "But I just can't do this right now."

Or the next day- which A. doesn't really think about.

It's not until bed time that next night that she remembers my stalled attempt to create her dream catcher. She tearfully comes into the living room, telling me that if I don't finish her dream catcher, she's going to have bad dreams. I have no answer for this because I'm the one that told her the dream catcher would keep the bad dreams away. So I tell her, "go to bed. I'll work on it later." She reluctantly returned to her room. Peeved, I'm sure, that she must endure another night of bad dreams because I'm a retard who can't pay attention to detail!

Lucky for me, A.'s birthday comes along within days and between the gift-getting and ice-cream eating she forgets all about that damned dream catcher. Its days before she mentions it again, but mentions it, she does. And this time, dh is in the room to witness her distress.

"You've got to finish those dream catchers." He tells me.

Really? I think.

"Yeah," I say instead. "But you don't understand how much work those fucking things are!" (or something like that). He laughs because I've done it again- gotten myself in over my head with a project that was supposed to be for the girls but ends up being for me. I'm a fucking genius, I tell you.

I just can't bring myself to finish it. Because I feel like, if I have to spend one more second creating a fucking net out of dental floss, the floss would somehow end up wound around my neck, instead of in the ring- and that could lead to something tragic!

But now A.'s back to (consistently) reminding me about her dream catcher, and how I need to finish so that she doesn't have bad dreams. And all I can think of is… fuck. Because not only do I have to finish hers, but then I have to start on the one for her sister!

I should have just gone to some nearby reservation and bought authentic ready-made dream catchers! It may have cost me a little more cash-wise, but the sanity I would have maintained would have been priceless.

Just priceless, I tell you.