Every
year when fall rolls around, I get the urge to craft. It starts innocently; I
see a little Pinterest project for constructing wreaths out of twine or simple
51-step project for making a chandelier out of champagne bottles and pinecones.
I’ll set
up shop on the couch, clicking and making shopping lists for the supplies I’ll
need to satisfy my urge. In the midst of this, Stephen will undoubtedly walk by
and sigh, knowing full well that my crafting alter-ego has been unleashed. A
woman marked by a manic episode of buttons and burlap and calligraphy pens. And
where will she go?
To Hobby
Lobby, of course. Where she’ll I’ll (oh, who are we kidding?), buy a
cart full of glue sticks, candles, Modge Podge, stencils, glitter and other
whatnots. I’ll even swing by Macadoodles, the local liquor store, to purchase
the champagne bottles it will require for the aforementioned chandelier. (And
Stephen will get sassy with me for spending money on champagne. That we don’t
drink. Or even like.)
I’ll
carry all the supplies in the house, full of vigor and a renewed sense of hope.
This could be the year; the year our home is filled with beautiful,
magazine-worthy creations. Handmade by yours truly.
But two,
three or ten weeks later, the supplies will still be sitting in the office,
unopened and neatly placed beside the di-cut paper slicer thing that I bought
last season to make that scrapbook photo frame that is still unfinished. Or
unstarted.
We’ll
have a slower-paced weekend and I’ll spend a Sunday afternoon attempting to
construct something. But after 30 minutes and multiple hot glue gun burns, I’ll
quit. My impatience will take over and I’ll curse the gods of Pinterest for
making me buy in to the whole DIY movement.
Pssshaw.
DIY.
I’d
rather BUY.
I was
born with a knack for putting the proper accessories with a certain outfit;
with an ability to find and attend every shoe sale in the tri-state area. I can
bake a solid batch of pumpkin bread, make a fantastic skillet of fried chicken
and brew up a glass of sweet tea that’ll blow your skirt up. I can tap dance,
do a pretty convincing British accent and teach my dog how to hop over an empty
wrapping paper roll.
But when
it comes to crafting…I missed the proverbial boat in magnificent form.
My
creations don’t look “similar” to the Pinterest photo; they are the Picassos in
a sea of Monets.
Oh sure,
those adorable little step-by-step tutorials make it look easy. But, am I the
only one that notices there are MANY things that happened between step one and
step two that were conveniently left out? I suppose they assume that a true
crafter would just “know” how to fill in the blanks.
Sister,
when it comes to turning licorice into lampshades, I need every step. Shown
twice and replayed in slow motion, just for good measure.
So, yes.
I’ve acknowledged the fact that, try as I may, I will never be one of those
women with a crafting room. If we have children, their Halloween costumes will
be ordered from Etsy. Handmade by some broad with far more talent and time than
myself.
I,
however, will divide and conquer with my friends, Visa and Mastercard.
Together, we’ll take on Pottery Barn and Kirkland’s, in search of everything
beautiful and factory-made.
…………………………………
I’ve
given up on channeling my inner-Martha. We tried, but things never worked out.
It was an amicable split and both of us are moving on with life.
Be blessed, lovelies-
