I don't subscribe to magazines on purpose. I have a theory that they are evil. But, try as I might, I have a hard time resisting when waiting in a doctor's office. After browsing through the Us or People or Us Crazy Hollywood People magazines, I flipped through a homemaking type magazine. An article caught my attention: Holiday Gifts that Kids Can Make. The article began by saying how we try to emphasize the giving aspect of winter holidays, but rarely give our children ways in which they can participate in the giving. I was hooked.

As I browsed through the ideas I ruled out one after the other as too hard, not that cute, couldn't mail it...then saw one that seemed great for me and my kiddo. It appeared simple, was attractive, not too expensive, and could be mailed. There would be lots of scooping involved which little guys like. The idea was a hot chocolate ingredient cone. Fill a cone-shaped plastic bag with hot cocoa mix, then add on top chocolate sprinkles, mini-marshmallows, and top it with a cute red gumdrop. It ends up looking like an ice cream cone. I was excited. (This is what's called foreshadowing.)

The magazine assured me that I would have no trouble finding the cone-shaped plastic bags at a party supply store. That didn't turn out to be the case exactly for me. But that's okay, I thought, square bags will still be cute.

The big day came. "Berto, we're going to make some presents for people we love." "For me?" "No, for people like Grandma Mary and Grampa Joe. Ready?" "Presents for me?!?" Take a deep breath. The sooner we get started and he gets into it, the better, I thought.

I explained how we were going to scoop the hot chocolate mix into the first bag through the funnel. A little mix spills, no big deal.  "Can I eat a marshmallow?" "After we finish each one you may have 1 marshmallow. Ready to scoop the chocolate chips?" "Can I eat one?" "When we finish this first bag, you can have a marshmallow. We're going to make 8 bags." Dot, Dot, Dot.

Okay, somewhere around the fifth bag something began to unravel: mommy. After quite a few little spills of this and that, attempts to sneak gumdrops, liberal mixing of the marshmallows and chocolate chips, and blatant disregard for my noble endeavor to have him participate in the creation of a gift that could be reasonably billed as "made by Berto" I started to lose all grip on reality. Gone was my smile, my sense of humor, my perspective on this little activity, my conscience. I snarled at him. Oh, what a mothering moment! The spirit of giving was just sullied by the ogre of perfectionism once again. Will I ever learn?

I hate magazines.