We’re off to see the therapist, the wonderful therapist of Oz

About a month ago, Caroline’s preschool sent home a written note regarding all the Fiesta activities they had planned for the kids. I know it seems like a visit from real, live royalty in the form of King Antonio would be more than enough, but it’s not.

A visit from King Antonio would require little to no parent suffering, which is just not acceptable.

The note explained the kids were going to have a parade of their own, and each child would need to make a parade float out of a shoebox. In the past, the teachers helped each child make their float at school and the only thing required of the parent was to supply the shoebox. But these teachers are no dummies, and they figured out a way to relieve themselves of shoebox float duty…guilt.

The note went into great detail about how each year the kids make these floats and how it is such an enjoyable experience for the teachers and kids that many parents requested they be able to make this a family project to be done at home.

Who are these parents?

No one would fess up for fear of being ostracized from the preschool community.

So, while they still offered the option of having your child make the float at school with the help of the teacher, it basically made you feel like your choice was to either spend hours with glue and glitter coated fingertips or to hang your head in shame as you essentially admit that you are an uninvolved parent whose child tucks themselves into bed each night while you and your husband sip martinis in the living room.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Secretly, I love craft projects. The problem is not with the craft in and of itself, the problem is I know it will unleash my OCD tendencies. I know I will not rest until I have glittered and tissue papered and decorated within an inch of my life because, even though the note reminded us this was a “preschool project”, we all know that 3 year olds have the attention span of a flea in a dog pound, and if I wanted Caroline to pull a float that consisted of more than a shoebox with a Hello Kitty sticker on it, it would be up to me.

I immediately sold Caroline on the idea of a Wizard of Oz themed float, because after all, we had all those Happy Meal dolls that we could use. I envisioned an Oz themed paradise complete with darling Madame Alexander Happy Meal figurines standing under a glittered rainbow.

And with that, the OCD was off and running.

The problem was every time we went to McDonalds, we got Dorothy or the Munchkin. No Wicked Witch, no Tin Man, no Scarecrow. I hated to be high maintenance at McDonalds, which is fairly ironic considering it doesn’t really bother me to be high maintenance anywhere else, and ask for a specific Happy Meal toy. I just kept playing the drive-thru like a craps table in Vegas, hoping that my luck would change.

As the due date for project shoebox float drew near, I realized I was in trouble. First of all, I had 4 Dorothys and 2 Munchkins. Then, when I dropped Caroline off at school a few days before the floats were actually required to be in, I saw a few other finished floats displayed. These floats belonged to the kids whose parents had relinquished float making duties to the teachers because they are much smarter and aware of their issues than I am. When I saw how good these floats looked and that one even included Spiderman scaling a skyscraper, I began to hyperventilate just a little. Something kicked in and I knew it was time to bring my float making A game.

OCD is real, people. It is a sickness.

After I left Caroline at school, I immediately drove to Michaels to secure the materials I would need to make the best float ever. I bought colored tissue paper, foam board, decorative flowers and enough glitter to outfit a chorus line of Vegas showgirls. The missing link was the other characters required to complete my Wizard of Oz masterpiece.

Then, as if in answer to prayer, Gulley called and said she was taking her youngest son to ride the train and pick up a Happy Meal at McDonalds. I hate to use the word “beg” because it sounds so desperate, but yes, I begged her to request the girl toy in the Happy Meal and if she wouldn’t mind, to please specify that she’d like a Wicked Witch or a Tin Man.

So, while I hate to appear high maintenance at McDonald’s, I had no problem asking my best friend to not only ask for a specific toy, but to also cheat her son out of a Happy Meal toy. He’s just 2, he won’t know the difference and if he does, I’ll pay for the therapy.

Gulley called me about 20 minutes later with news. And it wasn’t good. The McDonalds closest to us had run out of all Wizard of Oz characters and instead was offering My Little Ponies.

There was no way that I was giving up on The Wizard of Oz float just because some moron at McDonald’s didn’t order enough Happy Meal toys. Don’t try to pawn off your My Little Ponies on me, high school boy. Everyone knows those are left over from the last giveaway.

I am embarrassed to admit that I called a few other McDonalds looking for the Wizard of Oz figures and finally located a Scarecrow. I actually had the girl hold it for me (so much for not being high maintenance) and went and picked it up.

I realize I am in need of professional help.

That night, I wrapped the shoebox float with green paper, made a yellow brick road out of glitter, and placed Dorothy and the Scarecrow on top. I quickly realized I needed a Tin Man and a Lion. I searched through the playroom and found a lion left over from some other Happy Meal. Granted this lion didn’t look like he needed much courage because he was striking a jujitsu pose, but he’d do. Then, in a flash of brilliance, I decided to turn one of the munchkins into a Tin Man using some foil. I got out the Reynold’s Wrap and went to town. I posed the lion and the munchkin tin man next to Dorothy and Scarecrow and went to bed.

The next morning, P walked in the kitchen, looked at the float and asked, “What does foil alien baby have to do with The Wizard of Oz?”

He is a gem.

Finally, after too many hours spent cutting, glittering and gluing, the float was finished. As I carried it into Caroline’s classroom last Thursday, I started to worry that maybe I had done too much. Maybe my OCD had gotten completely out of control. Maybe my float would be so good that other parents would be embarrassed about their own paltry efforts.

Y’all know what they say about pride coming before a fall?

It’s true.

So true.

While the Wizard of Oz float was a valiant effort, it was by no means the best float in the parade. These parents take their floats seriously. Very seriously.

Which makes me think we might all be like the Scarecrow and should be in search of a brain.

Or at least something else to do with all the time we apparently have on our hands.

This post was originally published in April 2007.

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