The Matron is one of them.
Over the past four days, Scarlett has labored over highly decorative messenger bags for her 30,000 (okay, seven) best friends She's ironed stencils, painted, glued. On Friday, the child is saying good-bye to elementary school and her cadre of dear friends.
The plan is that Scarlett's friends will carry these bags to an asusement park tomorrow when sixth graders are liberated for a day of fun and water. The girls are all aflutter about the bags, the t-shirts another friend supplied, the end of an era.
But the Matron noticed that while Scarlett labored over bags for her friends, she neglected one for herself. All of her dear friends would be carrying highly decorated bags, but she would not.
So today, the Matron set out on a quest for a bag for Scarlett. First, she visited a craft store in an Eastern suburb. No luck. Next, she went to a craft store in a western suburb. Back to the east. Over to the south.
Finally -- after over almost TWO HOURs of driving and shopping, she secured the BAG.
Which went otherwise badly.
Let's just say the Matron is incapable of ironing stencils in such a way that the letters are right side up. She put the E in Scarlett upside down. She burnt fabric. Glue burned. Glitter spilled. The felt melted at the iron. She squinted and knotted. And didn't enjoy any of the process.
At the end of four hours of creating Scarlett's surprise, she wondered why she wasn't familiar with vodka.
And when she picked up Scarlett from school?
Scarlett: "Mama!? Can we go back to that craft store? I really regret we didn't get a bag for me. Everyone else has one and now I think I should have gotten one for myself."
Matron: "I don't think we have time to do that tonight."
Scarlett: "Okay. But if we did find time, I'd like to have a bag like my friends."
And when Scarlett walked into the house and saw the highly decorative bag -- even with its flaws?
American Express commercial: priceless.
Chalk one up for the mom.