I sometimes live under the delusion that I am one of those crafty, organized, on-top-of-her-shit moms. For the record I definitely am not, but if kids are allowed to pretend an empty box is a spaceship I should be allowed to pretend this.
In the midst of one of these fantasies I decided I was going to melt all the tiny crayon bits back together into bigger crayons so they stop covering ever square inch of the floor in my house at every moment of ever day… including the moment 30 seconds after I put them all back where they belong. Sigh. Kids. Point being I’m tired of stepping on coloring instruments. Moving on.
So I went out and bought one of those silicone muffin pans thinking it would be better than a metal one so I could bend it and pop the brand new, multi colored, giant crayons out when they were done. It was adorable. It was red and the muffin holes were shaped like hearts. I carried it around Ikea like a baby with a smile on my face that said to everyone I passed “I’m a crafty mom and am going to do crafty yet simultaneously functional things with this muffin pan. It’s no big deal though, I do things like this all the time… because I’m one of those ‘got-her-shit-together’ moms. Don’t worry, I’m sure if you try hard enough you could be like me too one day.”
When I got home I tore the wrappers of approximately 90 million broken crayons (that picture is maybe 1/4th of my total pile) and carefully organized them based on the knowledge of the color wheel that I acquired in 3rd grade so each crayon would only have shades that complimented each other in it. My child deserves only the best in upcycled coloring materials!
Then I stuck it in the oven.
Then my kitchen smelled like burning.
Then I looked in the oven to find melting silicone and colored wax dripping all over the place. Turns out the muffin pan I bought was in fact not a muffin pan but an ice cube tray. Seriously though, who makes a square ice cube tray!?!?! That’s just asking for confusion. Well ice cube trays do not have the same heat tolerance as muffin trays. Go figure. I’m sitting on my couch in the living room now and can still faintly smell the odor of burnt crayola.
Sigh… the dangers of delusion I suppose.