You would think the story I'm about to tell would cure me of having too many expectations with my kids, but I still find myself wanting things to turn out a certain way -- and then feeling surprised when scenarios play out differently. Stupid human. (Oh, wait, we don't say "stupid.")

Anyway, a couple of years ago, I dedicated a portion of my boys' play space for art projects. I bought lots of art supplies: crayons, markers, stickers, glitter glue, scissors, hole punchers, construction paper, paint pens and scores of other crafty odds 'n' ends. I organized all of the materials in bins, and bought a nice wooden table with two small chairs to serve as their workspace. Then, I covered part of a wall with cork, imagining all of the cute art pieces we would pin up.

I gave them lots of ideas for art projects, and spearheaded a bunch, too. We made dragon puppets from paper lunch bags and decorated wooden frames with found items like bottlecaps and butterfly wings. We fingerpainted clouds and made collages from vintage Highlights magazines I bought at a rummage sale.

I was living the artistic mom dream.

And then, a couple of years went by, and the boys started losing interest in my projects. They still loved doing art, but suddenly, they had their own vision.

I was slightly bummed they cut me out of their artistic process, but I knew it was ultimately a good thing. Plus, their artistic independence made it possible for me to do other things while they created masterpieces, like clean the bathroom.

One afternoon, while I scrubbed away in the next room, the boys worked on a "surprise" art project. They worked for about 20 minutes, and just as I was finishing up in the bathroom, Kai said they were ready to show me the project.

I wasn't sure what to say or do when I saw the creation, but screaming came to mind.

They took five or six of their stuffed animals, covered them in an entire bottle of Elmer's glue, sprinkled them with four containers of glitter, bound all them together with black duct tape and stuck them like voodoo dolls with pushpins. Then, they taped the massive, lumpy, sparkly, goopy creation to the wall, right next to my beautiful corkboard which was now bare since they used all of the pushpins to body pierce their stuffed animals.

"It's a 'coo-coo cluster,'" Kai said proudly.

It was ugly and disturbing (Paddington in bondage is just sad and wrong) but -- after my shock subsided -- I realized it was pretty amazing, too. It wasn't the kind of art project you'd find in a parenting magazine (Step 4: Stab thumbtacks into the arms and legs and eyes of the teddy bears), but it was a focused creative effort. Maybe my kids were sculptors. Or maybe they were deranged. Only time would tell.

"Can we leave it up forever?" Kai asked.

I glanced at my corkboard and my perfect projects strewn all over the playroom floor.

"Sure," I said, with raised eyebrows and a weird smile. "As long as you want."