Los Gatos Weekly-Times Artistically impaired family faces music with scarecrow By Debbie Farmer I took an active role in my daughter's education when she started kindergarten. I handled bake sales, field trips and classroom snacks like a pro. Everything was going great until the day my daughter brought home her first "family art project." My family, whose members take five days to put a glass in the dishwasher, had less than 24 hours to decorate a scarecrow. I nervously read the directions on the homework note. Step one: Cut and paste arms and legs onto body. I wasn't fooled. All family projects start out easy in order to lure the parent into a false sense of security. Step two: Color neatly in the lines. I became more suspicious. Step three: Decorate the scarecrow using items found around the house. I braced myself. Step four: Work as a family and use your imagination. The projects will be displayed in the cafeteria during the school Harvest Festival. Rats, I knew it. Translated into parent-talk, it meant the whole school would know my family is artistically impaired, and has the fine motor skills and creative ability of a pack of Rhesus monkeys. It also meant my family's project would probably be displayed alongside a scarecrow with two interchangeable matching outfits and custom shoes created by a family distantly related to Martha Stewart. I sneered at the smiling mimeographed scarecrow in his jaunty straw hat, and called an emergency family meeting to gather our forces. "Let's split up and see what we can find around the house to decorate the scarecrow," I said. "Meet back here when you've found something that doesn't move, bite, or smell." Half an hour later, my daughter emerged from her room with a pair of purple Barbie shoes; my son brought in a handful of dry cat food from the back porch; my husband donated a fly fishing lure, and I found two Lifesavers and a wad of chewing gum in the family room sofa. We placed our supplies on the table along with a pair of pinking sheers (I threw safety scissors away the day my son gave the cat bangs) and wallpaper seam glue. (I used the last bottle of Elmer's to reattach three buttons to a sweater and shorten a pair of pants.) We divided up the jobs: my daughter cut out the scarecrow's parts, my son arranged the pieces, my husband glued and I tried to keep the cat from eating our supplies. When we were done, our scarecrow was a work of art-- a Picasso. Its legs were attached to its elbows and an arm stuck out of its ear. It had two Lifesaver eyes, a chewing gum nose, cat food hair, a fishing lure mustache and a pair of purple Barbie shoes for feet. "It's perfect," my daughter said. "I can't wait to bring it to school." I cringed, knowing I'd be instantly disqualified for Mother of the Year. The next morning I waited with my daughter outside the classroom and listened to the other children discuss their projects. I stuffed ours into her backpack when I saw a girl heading our way, carrying a scarecrow with gold ribbon hair, felt patches on his hat and a papier mâché crow perched on his shoulder. "My mother worked all night to finish this," the girl said. "Where's yours?" My daughter pulled our scarecrow out. The girl silently considered it. "What's that?" she said pointing to its head. "Cat food." The girl reached out and touched it. "Cool," she said. I knew we passed the assignment with flying colors. Debbie Farmer's email address is debbie@ecis.com. [ Back to Contents Page | Los Gatos Weekly-Times Home Page | Archives ] This article appeared in the Los Gatos Weekly-Times, November 11, 1998. ©1998 Metro Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.