The dreaded question

So there are things my kids say that make me nervous.  Amoung them are quite a few involving bodily fluids - such as "Mum I'm going to vomit", "Who left the toilet like this?" and "Baby G has poo up her back". But there are others - like "Can we put on a show?", "My school shoes don't fit", "How are babies made?", "When can I have a face book account/pierce my ears?", "Can we EVER go swimming" and "Can I choose my own outfit?".  But there is one that distresses me more than any other... Can we do junk modelling?

Junk modelling (or junk moggling as Middle E says) is essentially creating sculptures out of cardboard boxes and bog rolls.  I have no idea who to blame for the arrival of this in my life, although I think it might be Mister Maker - the bastard son of Blue Peter and a preschool teacher.  This involves the older two children ransacking the inside and outside recycling bins (Oldest K has had to be rescued from it more than once after leaning too far in.  I was tempted to leave her there, although the pink shoes sticking out the top were a dead give away to the neighbours).  Once they have sequestered a large amount of, literally, rubbish that I have already thrown away once, they raid the stationary box of doom looking for scissors, glue and sellotape.  I will now, no doubt, have to intervene for the first of many times (assuming a bin rescue was not required on this occasion) as the glue will be dry because they NEVER put the lids back on, or they can't find the start of the sellotape, because they never fold it back no matter how many times I show them how.  Then they will set about sticking yogurt pots onto tissue boxes, cutting cereal boxes and cramming them full of newspaper and other brilliant forms of self-expression.  They will them announce that this is "a cage for my imaginary hamster" or "a robot", and head off outside to play something else.  25 minutes of preparation, 25 seconds of actually being entertained by the activity.  This will now be followed by much nagging and whining by me to get them to clear up the mess, and - chance would be a lucky thing - put all the items back in the correct place.  But we haven't got to the kicker. I'm not allowed to throw these art works away.  Ever.  Even if people are coming over.  Even if they begin to become a fire hazard.  They must sit, for eternity, ad infinitum, cluttering every surface, never actually being played with.  Yes - because of you Mr Maker, I am forced to live with my trash on display...