I Don't Wear Pants When I Dance.

One of my elementary school projects was to create a terrarium.  I was so amped up about this particular project.  I spent a lot of time in the woods collecting just the right plants, rocks, and moss. As an only child, I have always been really into arts, crafts, and creating strange things, this project was right up my nerd alley.

Oh-so-carefully,  I carried my terrarium into my classroom. I held my terrarium out in front of me, clutching it with both of my tiny little hands.  I wanted to be sure everyone got a good look at my most prized possession.  As I entered the classroom, I stopped next to the door.  In whizzes one of my class mates, afraid she is running late.  She slams into me and CRAAAASHH goes my glorious, hard work. All. Over. The. Floor.

I was devastated. Two thoughts crossed my mind: “That was a guaranteed A+ in between my palms” and “I despise that idiotic bush rag that just ran up in here like a wild boar not paying any mind because they didn’t care about their own lousy terrarium.”  Clearly, I was a very self assured child with an interesting vocabulary…

The Art In A Jar post I just put up reminded me of this day.. A day that I cried in school.  And, the day I got an A+ anyway because my teachers knew I was the creative loner who probably spent a combined total of 30 hours scouring various wooden areas in upstate NY for just the right combination of elements.

This makes me wanna get down on a new terrarium project. ;)