For anyone that knew me in high school, this post will come as no surprise. For those of you who didn’t, you may be shocked (my Colorado girlfriends tease that I was probably born with hot pink finger nails and never risked breaking one of them or ever come close to getting dirty). Ok, here it goes. My favorite class was shop class. Yep, you heard me, shop class. With the famous (in small circles) Mr. Musgrove. I loved shop class. Maybe because Mr. Musgrove let me do whatever I wanted. Maybe because I was using tools that had the potential to do some serious harm if not used properly. Maybe because I secretly loved the safety glasses. Maybe because my dad is a contractor and my mom may as well be, too. Or maybe just because I loved creating. I made everything from tables and chairs, to boxes, to bird houses. You name it, I probably tried to make it. Now, don’t get me wrong, they weren’t always awesome. In fact, my creations usually sucked. But the point is, I was using my imagination and my own two hands to create something from nothing.
This past weekend I decided that it was time to finally put together my son’s tool bench that his grandfather gave him for Christmas. (2 months late? Yes. Better late than never, right?!) Could my husband have done this? Of course he could have. Would he have gotten the same amount of joy that I did?Probably not. It brought me right back to fifth period shop class. Want to know what was even better than assembling the tool bench? Watching Miles rearrange the tools, hammer on the table, put (fake) wood in the vice, and pretend to create. He was creating something from nothing. … and I loved every second of it. I’m thinking we’ll head to Home Depot after nap today to buy ourselves some toolbelts.  I’m thinking pink for mine. (Do toolbelts even come in pink?)