I had better things to do . . .

It's my own fault. I'm the one who sometime back bought a crafts idea book for my seven-year-old daughter who eerily takes after Martha Stewart when it comes to all things creative.

The book, all about "mermaid" things to make, has proven to be a challenge. Its various colorfully illustrated craft projects are tantalizing but tricky for a young child without extensive help from an adult.

Today, the coveted prize was a "seashell purse" made from formed paper, cardboard, and lots and lots of paint and glitter. Mermaids must have glittery purses, I'm told.

Preoccupied with other more pressing things, I'm ashamed to admit I was relieved when I realized we didn't have some of the necessary supplies -- glitter among them -- to make the purse but then my daughter said, "Well, it IS still daylight. Can't we just go to Hobby Lobby?"

Sigh.

To know her is to love her and to love her amazing sense of pragmatism. It was so simple: Don't have it? Just go get it!

So we did, and when we got home it was really time to start supper but the child said earnestly, "Now that we have everything, I think we should at least get started."

Translated, this means, "Momma, the others don't need to eat but I do need this paper and cardboard seashell purse so never mind everyone else, just help me make the darn thing."

Reluctantly -- because I also really wanted to catch a quick peek at my email before I started cooking -- I sat down with the craft book in front of me and carefully analyzed the half million steps necessary for completing the purse.

Did I mention the numerous steps involved?

An hour later we had completed Seashell Purse Phase I and my daughter was satisfied I wasn't going to bail on the remainder of the project. After all, we'd come too far to abandon our effort now.

Did I say "our"?

I meant, "my" as in "MY effort." While it's true the seashell purse is for my daughter and she is the one who initiated the whole production, I am the hired help who sat and traced and cut and shaped paper and then slathered Mod Podge over the whole thing before blanketing it with colored tissue paper.

To be fair, my daughter did tear the tissue paper into pieces for me. Oh, and she did offer helpful hints when it came time to cut the purse out of cardboard.

So with Phase I in the can, I was allowed to take a breather.

Woefully I began to survey all that had remained undone during my pursuit of a purse to rival those of Louis Vuitton.

A pile of unfolded laundry. Dishes in the sink. Trash to be taken out. Books to be reshelved. Clothes to be washed. Rugs to be vacuumed. Checks to write and bills to pay.

Then I glanced over at the counter where earlier I'd been sorting photos of my children from the past several years. My throat tightened as it dawned on me how little the kids in those pictures were -- too little to make seashell purses or read stories of mermaids or use scissors or glue or sequins. And I remembered how especially in those early days of motherhood I eagerly anticipated a future in which I'd sit around a table with my little ones to share in the fun of arts and crafts.

That's when it hit me hard. Today was that day! The future was now! And I nearly blew it off in favor of a nap or yet another load of laundry?

Suddenly, the seashell purse has became the most important goal I have, and I made a point to reassure my daughter we'll finish it up tomorrow.

Tidying up the house after the kids were all in bed, I marvelled at how quickly the future of a few years back was now sitting squarely upon me as the present. Picking scraps of tissue paper off the floor and scraping glue off the kitchen table reminded me that, indeed, I had better things to do today.

Thank God I figured out what they were and did them.