Materials:

1. Drawerfuls of yarn, felt, foam squares, glitter glue, googly eyes, velcro, markers,  pipe cleaners, magnetic backing.  All set.

2. Bags of fabrics squares, thread, popsicle sticks, stickers. Discretely located all over the house.

3. A dusty bag of way-too-expensive and barely used scrap booking supplies. Definitely hidden.

4. The addictive urge to create. Arrives usually before school starts.

5. A crafty aptitude. No. Missing. Not there.

I admit it. Despite the trail of sad projects, the call of craft always carries me to a Jo-Ann’s Fabric or a Michael’s. For once, I resolve, chance will overcome ornery logistics. 

Browsing the aisles, I practice selective amnesia. I ignore the memory of the letter magnets that slid down the white board surface (all surfaces for that matter). Gone are the weeks of labor-intensive word family cubes that involved cutting, laminating and velcro. So much velcro that when a student tossed a cube, static electricity prevented any rolling: the cubes stuck. 

Why should I remember the laminating fiascos that crinkle up, bubble or just don't adhere to my newly-made posters and games?  A series of web pictures depicting adorable plastic trash barrels decorated as human/monster word munchers prompted my creation of Max. Except Max is not cute. He still looks like a grey industrial receptacle with of nest of tangled yarn attached inexplicably to his lid for hair. 

But the elusive one day can still happen. After all, I explain to my dubious students, how can Max be a trash can if he eats words and letters? And then they hug him.