A Christmas craft to try with your loved ones

Several years ago at the Santa Shop at school, I led the craft for the older kids who were waiting for their parents to come pick them up. My craft was super simple because Martha Stewart I am not!   Fill a glass Christmas ball with Christmas velum; pinch some glitter in and shake it around. Viola! Craft!  See?  Somewhere, there's a vein popping out of Martha Stewart's forehead because I didn't even use fresh rosemary!

There were only about 50 kids that came through during this time, so it was slow and I got to sit and visit with the kids. Only one glass ball broke and it was a dad who was the breaker; he was telling his daughter to be "extra careful!" She was; he was not. I was glad he broke it. Sometimes Karma rocks this world, eh?

About half way through one of my friend's daughters said, "I've got a new craft for you for next year."

"I'm listening..." I nodded.

"First you need white paint..."

"You lost me at paint..." I shook my head.

"No really. It's a great craft. You will need BLUE BALLS."

Oh Lord. She didn't just say blue balls. This is proof, again, that maybe I am still 15!

"They have to be BLUE BALLS, not red or green or clear."

She did just say blue balls - twice.

"My mom makes this craft and she makes it with BLUE BALLS."

Big Sigh.  It's moment's like this that I miss tteaching freshmen and sophomores because I really need to laugh at her saying blue balls.

"So my mom takes the BLUE BALLS and dips a hand into the white paint and then cups the BLUE BALLS."

Really?!??! She said blue balls twice and I'm about to have an anurism not laughing. And now she has us cupping the blue balls! How is it that I'm able to keep myself from peeing myself with laugher?  How is it I'm able to keep my eyes from popping right out of my head from the pressure of NOT laughing? I know!  Because then I'd have to explain blue balls to this child ~ who apparently takes great delight in saying that phrase, again and again, over and over!

"See, the finger prints look like snowmen. Then you draw on the eyes and nose and hats and the BLUE BALLS look like the sky," she concluded and then added, "My mom makes great blue balls!"

Seriously, my friends. I had a conversation with an 11-year old in which she said BLUE BALLS 40-dozen times and was SERIOUS!

Look at the smile on that daddy snowman.
He does not suffer from blue balls!

Luckily for me and Daughter 2, she had this 11-year old blue balls spewer's mother as a kindergarten teacher.  BUT, Mrs. S. had shared the idea with her partner teacher Mrs. F., who was Daughter 2's preK teacher.  And Mrs. F made blue balls with her pre-kindergarten class, including Daughter 2.  I distinctly remember Daughter 2 running up to me and saying, "Mrs. F taught me how to to make blue balls!  See?"  On that particular occasion, I did bust a gut laughing.  Then I promised Daughter 2 I'd drive through the donut shop the next morning if she'd tell that to her daddy!



He, on the other hand, did not find the same humor in his daughter announcing her new blue-ball making skills.  Some people just don't have a sense of humor!


P.S. For those of you who, like my very own momma, had no idea why tears were streaming down my face and I could barely breath as I told that story, I offer you this little vocabulary lesson:


Blue Balls [bloo bawlz] n. a painful, but temporary, condition of the testicles, often the result of unreleased sexual arousal. Contrary to popular belief at our casa, The Dad does NOT suffer from Blue Balls.