Winter's Coming: Sensory Bins Revisited

Here in the upper Midwest, our pleasant autumn with its golden leaves and bright orange pumpkins turned into cold, colorless, and eternal winter over the course of a couple of days (much to my chagrin and to the chagrin of our neighbors who probably really wanted me to mow one last time). In the blink of an eye, the kids went from riding bikes and scooters up and down the street and playing in the backyard, to being inside All. The. Time. 

I'm already tired of it, and it's not even December, yet.

Such dire conditions immediately triggered my survival instincts, so I turned to our stash of sensory bins. (Click here for my original post on sensory bins). Stow has been playing with them on and off for most of the last year, but Pink had all but forgotten about them. So Saturday morning, I pulled out the fairy box and suggested she make a fairy garden. Twenty minutes later, she had this:

Kids playing quietly together for 20 to 30 minutes while also using their brains and being creative is the goal for any toy/craft that finds its way into our house. Pink's garden was enough to inspire me to go ahead and put together another bin I'd been contemplating for awhile, Star Wars.

Whenever I make a new bin, I try to recycle stuff we have around the house as much as possible. For this bin, I used the following:

Empty medicine bottles turned escape pods.

An egg carton space station.

Abandoned marbles make great planets. Some of them even have their own cloud cover (which, according to Sky, makes them much more convincing).

My original plan was to use Sky's old Star Wars figurines in the bin, so all I would have to buy is a bag of black beans. But, when Sky went to get his Star Wars guys, they were GONE!!!!!!!! (EDITOR'S NOTE: The only one surprised by this was Sky. We all know that no one stole his Star Wars guys. He just can't remember where he put them). To avert the meltdown that was bound to happen each and every time I reminded him to look for the Star Wars figurines, I decided it made more sense to just buy the cheapest possible set of plastic Star Wars pieces to complete the bin. 

I couldn't find a cheaper-looking collection of Star Wars things if I tried, and these STILL weren't all that inexpensive. It's amazing what this one mom will do to avoid unnecessary meltdowns (Plus, Stow had a leftover gift card from Target, so that enabled me to pretend these guys were free).

In the end, I bought a two-pound bag of black beans (for $1.97) and a collection of junky plastic Star Wars guys (for more than $1.97). But, I wound up with this:

On the bin's inaugural mission, Stow played with it for 40 minutes while we made dinner and begged for it again after breakfast the next morning. Those little plastic dudes are going to pay for themselves in no time!

UPDATE:

Day four, and this is still the first thing he asks for in the morning...

Powerful Art by Pink P and Sky

The kids brought home Thanksgiving-related school work in preparation for the holiday. In a book called "Thanksgiving," Pink P describes her excitement about going to an aunt's house, smelling apple pie in the kitchen, and eating salad. 

It all seems so idyllic until she drops the hammer on Big Sissy.

"I feel like I could cry because Big Sissy will not come."

I pointed out that Big Sissy WAS coming for Thanksgiving, but Pink P said it didn't matter because Big Sissy doesn't come nearly enough. I texted a picture of this to Big Sissy, mainly so she could see that everyone really does miss her, but also because I was really glad someone else was on the receiving end of a Pink P guilt trip for once.

Pink has perfected the art of guilt-inducing creativity. On the first day of school, she brought home this:

Dear Teacher, Please quit asking Pink P how she feels because obviously she is neglected by her mom and her big sister.

Last week, she insisted I mail a letter to my parents that said, "Dear Grandma and Grandpa, Please come to our house and bring bean soup and nail polish. Love, Pink P." To Santa, she just sent a list, only adding "From Pink" when I pointed out that he might find her letter of demands to be a tad rude.

I'm not sure Sky is doing much better, though. He brought this home from school:

Cannibalism and talking turkey legs--not to mention serious lack of compassion.

Inside the card, he seemed mostly thankful that we are all not dead.

In other writing, he nicely articulated how fortunate he is to have a family that loves him, a school where he can be educated, and plenty of chances to grow as a human being. Here, however, he's glad to be "rich" and not dead. Uh, thanks, Buddy. 

Just when I'd started to seriously worry about where we went wrong with Sky, he handed me this:

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In reality, we don't have chores at our house. We have jobs--all of us working together for the good of the family and none of us doing it in hopes of getting paid. At least, that's what we call it and how we think about it. Then again, that might just be semantics. The important part is that he wants to to stuff to help and that he's thought about what specifically he can do. Things like:

This is actually a pretty great coupon book. I just hope he doesn't start charging me once the coupons run out.