A slipper, an Iron Man action figure, a library card and a Nintendo DS game.
No, I am not playing some odd version of Carnac the Magnificent (for those of you who don't know what that is LOOK IT UP because you should. I don't care how old you are - you should know THAT!), but I will say all these things do have something in common.
They are all lost somewhere in my house. Even with a bit a searching they are still lost. Real looking, too - not just "kid looking."
For those of you without kids I will explain the difference. "Kid-looking" is when I kid walks into a room and if the object they are looking for is not smack dab in front of their face or physically touching them, they can not find it. Repeated attempts by adults to tell them to look harder only has them returning to the exact same spot they were before and looking even less.
My son is an expert "kid-looker." He will claim to look high and low for his Batman car or Aqua Man or favorite MSU stuffed bear. He becomes distraught because he has looked "everywhere" and he can not find it. So when I finally decide to get off my keister and help him look, inevitably I find said item in about 30 seconds - sometimes less.
But there a few items - namely the few I have listed above that no matter how much "real" searching is done, the item can not be found. And it is starting to really tick me off!
I have mentioned before how I am a bit OCD when it comes to things being neat and orderly so when something comes up missing I just want to drop everything until the item is found and put back in its proper place. A missing item for me is like have a picture frame perpetually askew in the house. It drives me a bit batty!
Now I am sure some of these items will eventually turn up. There is no way that I kid slipper is really gone forever - in fact I just thought of another place to look. Gimmie a sec to go look for it ...
Yea! I found it! Huzzah! In the dirty laundry by mistake. Why didn't I think to look there before? Well that is one item found, only about 20 to go.
And while I know that more will turn up during clean-up time or randomly when I am looking for something completely different, there are a couple things I can not fathom where they might be.
Topping the list is my daughter's library card. She was so excited this fall when she was given her very own library card. The librarian suggested (and rightly so) that she keep her card on file at the library so it would not get lost (hmmmm), but she INSISTED that she would take good care of it and not lose it. Within 24 hours it was gone. TWENTY-FOUR HOURS.
I know I should have put my foot down and made her leave it at the library, but I was trying to teach her a little responsibility. Lesson learned. By mom anyway. Six-year-olds should not be in the care of their own library cards. We have searched and searched for that card and I keep thinking is just going to turn up, but it has been almost six months now and nothing.
The most recent disappearance has been a Nintendo DS game my oldest bought with some Christmas money. Also lost within about 24 hours. My husband and I have searched high and low for that sucker and can't seem to find it. My fear is that it fell off her desk and into the trash and was accidentally tossed, but I really don't think that happened. I think I would have wondered what the heavy thing was in the trash - which is usually only filled with tissues and crumpled pieces of paper.
The most frustrating part (aside from wasting 20 dollars) is she doesn't seem all that upset it is missing. She just shrugs and makes some nonchalant comment about it. Her dad and I, on the other hand, are quite irked. We try to instill the importance of earning things and that they are not entitled to everything they want. So when they lose something it would be nice if they were a little upset by it. Their laissez-faire feelings gives me the impression that they think we are just going to run out and replace whatever it is they lost. Not sure where they got that, because that is certainly NOT going to happen.
Maybe she is trying to be strong and not show how truly upset she really is by the loss of her game and library card. Sure, I'm going to go with that one .... It'll help me sleep better at night.
Know what would make me sleep even BETTER at night? Finding that bleepity, bleepin' game and library card!
Oh, and if you could click on the Top Mommy Blog logo at the top of the page I would very much appreciate it!! You're the best!
When the kids out number the parents, some days you're the dog and some days you're the hydrant
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
We may have all been raised in a barn ...
Mealtime at our house is quite the comedy routine. By the time I have called them to dinner and they have all whined and complained about having to leave the wondrous activity that has just captured their attention and then have all raced to the bathroom to wash their hands and fight about who was there first and more pouting about who has to go last - about 10 minutes have passed. Which is just about the time it takes for their vegetables on their plates to get ice cold (which is usually how they prefer them, if they eat them at all).
Then we say grace which can take another 10 minutes what with the constant interruption of other people's prayers and then having to go around two and three times to get in all the prayers everyone forgot to mention (usually just a duplicate of what their brother or sister just said).
Then FINALLY we eat. I say we, but I really mean just my husband and I. And that is not because my kids are incredibly picky eaters (which they sometimes are) or they are incredibly stubborn when it cames to eating (which they sometimes are). Mostly they are not eating because they are too busy talking. And when I say talking, I mean TALKING.
But it's not just talking. It's talking while everyone else is talking so it is difficult to make out what anyone is actually saying.
You know where I am going here ...
My kids are a chatty bunch.
(And can I just say I LOVE Brick from Anchorman. It's like he's a bit of all three of my kids rolled into one)
(And can I just say I LOVE Brick from Anchorman. It's like he's a bit of all three of my kids rolled into one)
And while it is comical to me, it is a bit unnerving to my husband.
See I grew up in a "loud" house. Everyone talking all the time. Mealtime especially. Growing up, a friend of mine (who is an only child) used to be amazed at the amount of chatter that went on around our table at dinner.
To me though, it was never a big deal. That was the norm.
My family is not Italian or Greek or from New Jersey or one of those "loud family" stereotypes. We are a just a typical Midwestern family who just happens to be very loud.
So when the decibel rises around the table, I just shrug like it's no big deal.
My poor husband has a harder time. Just the other day at lunch he declared that his ears were ringing from the sheer volume the kids were producing. It was all pretty mild talk too - no fighting or demanding. Just talking about my son's day at preschool.
See my husband's family is not loud. They are normal.
It seems, however, the kids have inherited the "loud" gene from my family. Quiet family meals have gone the way of the Dodo bird. Something that once existed, but never will again.
I don't really mind it. The volume that is. I could do without the constant interrupting, talking over, chewing with their mouths full, and potty talk. (OK, sometimes the potty talk is funny. But I will never tell them that.)
As for my poor husband, well I think he just may to come over to the "loud" side. It's an eat or be eaten world out there - and around our dining table.
Or in our case - talk loud or be drowned out.
(Oh, I just was accepted into the Top Mommy Blog site! Blogs are ranked by votes, so if you like what your reading click on the Top Mommy Blog logo at the top of the page and vote for me. All you have to do is click - that's it! Thank you in advance!)
(Oh, I just was accepted into the Top Mommy Blog site! Blogs are ranked by votes, so if you like what your reading click on the Top Mommy Blog logo at the top of the page and vote for me. All you have to do is click - that's it! Thank you in advance!)
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Don't need the driver, just the limo
We were in the car driving to church, listening to the big band music our local radio station plays on Sunday mornings, amazed that we were actually going to be on time (a couple minutes EARLY even) and then it started up.
First a low rumbling, a couple comments here and there from one of the kiddos in the back. Then it started to build. Louder and louder until my husband and I could scarcely here Glen Miller bopping on the airways.
It wasn't fighting per say, just lots of "hey Mommy," "hey Daddy," "remember when we did/saw fill-in-the-blank-for-some random-thing-that-popped-into-their-head-because-we-passed-a-red-truck-or-something."
Times that by three and it sounds a little something like this:
It was at that moment that my husband said "wouldn't it be nice if we had a limo?"
No, it wasn't so we could be sitting in the back not worried about traffic or having to find a parking space at church. And no, it wasn't because if we had a limo we would be better off financially then we are now.
His desire for a limousine was simple: when the noises got too loud, we could simply roll up the partition window and drive along in peace.
What a novel idea! Why hasn't someone at Chrysler made that a standard feature on the Town and Country yet?
It's funny because when it gets to a fevered pitch like that it is usually about nothing all that important. It may be to ask a question we have already answered five time. THAT MORNING. Or to tattle or complain or just to try and be louder than their sibling.
Whenever they try to tell us something we genuinely want to here they talk just above a whisper. And anyone who has ever been in a minivan knows that those things are not the best at blocking out the noise so we must ask, over and over and over again for them to please speak up/stop taking into their coat/turn their head toward us - so we might have some chance of picking up a few words and figuring out what the heck they are talking about.
Of course when we want inside voices (like say when we are two feet away from them at the dinner table) we get shouting. That's kid karma for ya ...
But the privacy window partition doesn't have to be contained solely to the car. I found another use for it last night at dinner. All the kids dinners were plated, served and ready to be consumed. It was a meal they all actually liked too: tacos (which is why we have them every Tuesday). So they should have been eating. My husband and I were up plating our own dinners and attempting to have an adult conversation about our respective days. Insane thought I know while the three kids were still awake, but it seemed like it should have been feasible.
Except for our son Mr. Nosey Parker interrupting every third word asking "who called?" "who was late?" "what did you say?"
Eyes on your own paper dude! Eat your taco!
I looked at my husband and said "wouldn't it be nice to have one of the limo windows right now?" Maybe then we could actually finish a thought without being interrupted.
He suggested a mental partition. Good in theory, but let's face it, they are pretty hard to ignore
Nice idea though ...
OK GM, get crackin ...
First a low rumbling, a couple comments here and there from one of the kiddos in the back. Then it started to build. Louder and louder until my husband and I could scarcely here Glen Miller bopping on the airways.
It wasn't fighting per say, just lots of "hey Mommy," "hey Daddy," "remember when we did/saw fill-in-the-blank-for-some random-thing-that-popped-into-their-head-because-we-passed-a-red-truck-or-something."
Times that by three and it sounds a little something like this:
It was at that moment that my husband said "wouldn't it be nice if we had a limo?"
No, it wasn't so we could be sitting in the back not worried about traffic or having to find a parking space at church. And no, it wasn't because if we had a limo we would be better off financially then we are now.
His desire for a limousine was simple: when the noises got too loud, we could simply roll up the partition window and drive along in peace.
What a novel idea! Why hasn't someone at Chrysler made that a standard feature on the Town and Country yet?
It's funny because when it gets to a fevered pitch like that it is usually about nothing all that important. It may be to ask a question we have already answered five time. THAT MORNING. Or to tattle or complain or just to try and be louder than their sibling.
Whenever they try to tell us something we genuinely want to here they talk just above a whisper. And anyone who has ever been in a minivan knows that those things are not the best at blocking out the noise so we must ask, over and over and over again for them to please speak up/stop taking into their coat/turn their head toward us - so we might have some chance of picking up a few words and figuring out what the heck they are talking about.
Of course when we want inside voices (like say when we are two feet away from them at the dinner table) we get shouting. That's kid karma for ya ...
But the privacy window partition doesn't have to be contained solely to the car. I found another use for it last night at dinner. All the kids dinners were plated, served and ready to be consumed. It was a meal they all actually liked too: tacos (which is why we have them every Tuesday). So they should have been eating. My husband and I were up plating our own dinners and attempting to have an adult conversation about our respective days. Insane thought I know while the three kids were still awake, but it seemed like it should have been feasible.
Except for our son Mr. Nosey Parker interrupting every third word asking "who called?" "who was late?" "what did you say?"
Eyes on your own paper dude! Eat your taco!
I looked at my husband and said "wouldn't it be nice to have one of the limo windows right now?" Maybe then we could actually finish a thought without being interrupted.
He suggested a mental partition. Good in theory, but let's face it, they are pretty hard to ignore
Nice idea though ...
OK GM, get crackin ...
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
I know I am screwing up, it's just to what degree
OK people, have a seat (although you were probably already sitting down) I have something pretty shocking to tell you.
Are you ready? OK, here goes ... deep breath ...
I am not perfect.
Mind blown right? How can this be? I mean you already know my grammar, punctuation and sentence structure skills are a beautiful sight to behold. And just last night I took a quiz and discovered that I AM smarter than a fifth grader in spelling. (We won't mention history, social studies or math ...)
But alas, I am not perfect. I know it is hard to believe but it is true. Just ask my kids.
See, I have already resigned myself to the fact that I have, and will probably continue to screw up my kids. That may sound horrible to say but it is true. That doesn't mean that I am a bad parent or anything, we are just imperfect beings and so the probability of us raising a perfect being is very slim. (At least I think it is. I could be wrong. I am in fact NOT smarter than a fifth grader in math as you remember.)
And if you think you are the one parent out there who is NOT screwing up your kid and you have this whole parenting thing down cold, let me be the first to burst your bubble - you're not. I am sure you are doing a wonderful job and your kids are smart, funny, caring, wonderful little humans just like mine are - they are just a little screwed up too.
This winter I know I have done a little mental damage to my son.
See, I could have sworn I had a pair of snow pants that fit him. I just knew I did. But after the first flakes finally fell in our little hometown and it was time to send him to preschool ready to romp on the snow, I quickly learned that in fact we did NOT have any snow pants for him. And by then all the good parents out there had bought up all the snow pants in his size. Parenting fail.
After further digging however, I did discover that we did in fact own a pair of snow pants that would fit him. Huzzah!! Crisis averted! The snow romping can begin! Well, yes, except that the pair of pants we had belonged to his older sister and were purple. Opps! They fit though and have a lot of wear left so it seems only right that he should use them. Especially since he didn't have another option.
Now let me just say this. I am not a gender stereotype pushing person. I like that my son plays with dolls and my girls ram cars together. Pink does not equal girl and blue does not equal boy. Girls can do/wear anything boys can do/wear and vice versa. So I know there is nothing wrong with him wearing purple snow pants. But it is a tad funny. He has this red and black coat, Batman boots, Spiderman hat and purple snow pants. (It's a good thing he is four and can still pull it off.)
Luckily he has been a pretty good sport about it. He doesn't really like to wear them, but he knows he doesn't have another option. On the way to school one day I looked back at him in his purple snow pants and a pathetic little look on his face and I told him "one day you'll be able to lay a guilt trip on me about the time I made you wear purple snow pants." He has no idea what I am talking about now, but by 15 he'll get it. And it will probably work too.
I just hope I remember to get him a pair of new snow pants next fall when they are still available. Or maybe I should just buy black snow pants from now on and cover all my bases. They are gender neutral, hide the dirt and are a slimming color. And what preschooler wants to worry about looking bulky when they are playing in the snow!
Are you ready? OK, here goes ... deep breath ...
I am not perfect.
Mind blown right? How can this be? I mean you already know my grammar, punctuation and sentence structure skills are a beautiful sight to behold. And just last night I took a quiz and discovered that I AM smarter than a fifth grader in spelling. (We won't mention history, social studies or math ...)
But alas, I am not perfect. I know it is hard to believe but it is true. Just ask my kids.
See, I have already resigned myself to the fact that I have, and will probably continue to screw up my kids. That may sound horrible to say but it is true. That doesn't mean that I am a bad parent or anything, we are just imperfect beings and so the probability of us raising a perfect being is very slim. (At least I think it is. I could be wrong. I am in fact NOT smarter than a fifth grader in math as you remember.)
And if you think you are the one parent out there who is NOT screwing up your kid and you have this whole parenting thing down cold, let me be the first to burst your bubble - you're not. I am sure you are doing a wonderful job and your kids are smart, funny, caring, wonderful little humans just like mine are - they are just a little screwed up too.
This winter I know I have done a little mental damage to my son.
See, I could have sworn I had a pair of snow pants that fit him. I just knew I did. But after the first flakes finally fell in our little hometown and it was time to send him to preschool ready to romp on the snow, I quickly learned that in fact we did NOT have any snow pants for him. And by then all the good parents out there had bought up all the snow pants in his size. Parenting fail.
After further digging however, I did discover that we did in fact own a pair of snow pants that would fit him. Huzzah!! Crisis averted! The snow romping can begin! Well, yes, except that the pair of pants we had belonged to his older sister and were purple. Opps! They fit though and have a lot of wear left so it seems only right that he should use them. Especially since he didn't have another option.
Now let me just say this. I am not a gender stereotype pushing person. I like that my son plays with dolls and my girls ram cars together. Pink does not equal girl and blue does not equal boy. Girls can do/wear anything boys can do/wear and vice versa. So I know there is nothing wrong with him wearing purple snow pants. But it is a tad funny. He has this red and black coat, Batman boots, Spiderman hat and purple snow pants. (It's a good thing he is four and can still pull it off.)
Luckily he has been a pretty good sport about it. He doesn't really like to wear them, but he knows he doesn't have another option. On the way to school one day I looked back at him in his purple snow pants and a pathetic little look on his face and I told him "one day you'll be able to lay a guilt trip on me about the time I made you wear purple snow pants." He has no idea what I am talking about now, but by 15 he'll get it. And it will probably work too.
I just hope I remember to get him a pair of new snow pants next fall when they are still available. Or maybe I should just buy black snow pants from now on and cover all my bases. They are gender neutral, hide the dirt and are a slimming color. And what preschooler wants to worry about looking bulky when they are playing in the snow!
Friday, December 20, 2013
Coffee, I love you, so why do you hurt me so?
I love coffee. I love it hot, cold, iced, blended - just put a little cream and sugar in it and I am good to go.
I also need coffee. Yes, I have become one of those obnoxious people who can't get their day started without a cup of Joe. You know all the Someecards and Facebook photos out there with a droopy-eyed dog looking pathetic and the caption reading "Someone needs her third cup of coffee?" Well, that someone is me.
I like coffee, I need coffee ... coffee is a wonderful thing.
Except when it is scalding hot and burns your tongue after the first sip rendering your taste buds useless for the rest of the day. Then I get a little p-o ed at coffee.
I want to drink it. As I look my big Grand Valley State University mug (go Lakers!) full of coffee and watch the steam rise off the lovely black liquid - mixed with just enough Splenda and CoffeeMate to turn in a light chocolaty color - all want to do is take a big satisfying slurp. But alas, I must not sip too soon or I will surely be punished. So I wait impatiently as my eyelids struggle to stay open and I can physically feel the energy draining from my body. I probably should just pop an ice cube in there or something ....
A piece of ice is not much help to me however when I am getting my favorite Cafe Mocha at Tim Horton's or getting a quick pick-me-me at a gas station. That is where I most recently got burned (literally and figuratively).
I get it, people like hot coffee. I am one of them. But why does it have to be so bleepity, bleepin' hot the second it comes out pot? It's not like coffee instantly cools. It is not like you have to put the coffee in a cup straight out of the freezer. Coffee shops and gas stations provide STYROFOAM cups to help keep the heat IN. It's gonna stay hot for a few minutes people, trust me. Plus, the caffeine is still going to work whether the coffee is 200 degrees or 50 so why give our tongues second degree burns in the process. As it is I have to wait a good 10 to 15 minutes before I even dare take my first sip and even then it it with a very hesitate slurp.
Because it doesn't take very much hot liquid to burn your tongue. And man, I hate it when I have burnt taste buds. While they only are around about 10 days and usually the tongue heals much faster than that, I would still rather just avoid the possibility entirely. (Even right now as I am typing this, I can feel the swollen taste buds on my tongue from yesterday's white chocolate caramel fiasco from the Shell station near my son's preschool.)
So here is my plea to all coffee shops, restaurants, gas stations and any place else that sell coffee: Turn your pots down a few degrees will ya? It is tough to get repeat customers if all their tongues have burnt off. Or at the very least start offering ice cubes with each purchase.
I will probably take you up on it ...
I also need coffee. Yes, I have become one of those obnoxious people who can't get their day started without a cup of Joe. You know all the Someecards and Facebook photos out there with a droopy-eyed dog looking pathetic and the caption reading "Someone needs her third cup of coffee?" Well, that someone is me.
I like coffee, I need coffee ... coffee is a wonderful thing.
Except when it is scalding hot and burns your tongue after the first sip rendering your taste buds useless for the rest of the day. Then I get a little p-o ed at coffee.
I want to drink it. As I look my big Grand Valley State University mug (go Lakers!) full of coffee and watch the steam rise off the lovely black liquid - mixed with just enough Splenda and CoffeeMate to turn in a light chocolaty color - all want to do is take a big satisfying slurp. But alas, I must not sip too soon or I will surely be punished. So I wait impatiently as my eyelids struggle to stay open and I can physically feel the energy draining from my body. I probably should just pop an ice cube in there or something ....
A piece of ice is not much help to me however when I am getting my favorite Cafe Mocha at Tim Horton's or getting a quick pick-me-me at a gas station. That is where I most recently got burned (literally and figuratively).
I get it, people like hot coffee. I am one of them. But why does it have to be so bleepity, bleepin' hot the second it comes out pot? It's not like coffee instantly cools. It is not like you have to put the coffee in a cup straight out of the freezer. Coffee shops and gas stations provide STYROFOAM cups to help keep the heat IN. It's gonna stay hot for a few minutes people, trust me. Plus, the caffeine is still going to work whether the coffee is 200 degrees or 50 so why give our tongues second degree burns in the process. As it is I have to wait a good 10 to 15 minutes before I even dare take my first sip and even then it it with a very hesitate slurp.
Because it doesn't take very much hot liquid to burn your tongue. And man, I hate it when I have burnt taste buds. While they only are around about 10 days and usually the tongue heals much faster than that, I would still rather just avoid the possibility entirely. (Even right now as I am typing this, I can feel the swollen taste buds on my tongue from yesterday's white chocolate caramel fiasco from the Shell station near my son's preschool.)
So here is my plea to all coffee shops, restaurants, gas stations and any place else that sell coffee: Turn your pots down a few degrees will ya? It is tough to get repeat customers if all their tongues have burnt off. Or at the very least start offering ice cubes with each purchase.
I will probably take you up on it ...
Friday, December 13, 2013
If I see someone wearing a nightgown at Walmart, I just may lose it ...
There is a problem out there that has reached such epic proportions that I can not hold my tongue any longer. This epidemic is running wild in the streets and if something isn't done it may be the collapse of civilization as we know it.
People: stop wearing pajamas in public.
Look, I get it, pajamas are comfortable. I look forward to putting on my pjs every night and curling up on the couch. So wear pajamas - wear them all day if you want to. Just don't go out in public with them. It is just wrong.
For one, the clothes you are wearing are meant to be under your sheets and blankets, not wandering the aisles of Meijer or Walmart. (Or McDonald's, or the movie theater, or Applebees.) There is a reason why we change our clothes before we go to bed. For comfort yes, but we have been out in the world all day, coming in contact with goodness-knows what. Do we really want to bring all that in to bed with us? It gives me the willies just thinking about it. Gross!
Secondly these articles if clothing are not designed to be worn outside the home. Pants that have Homer Simpson plastered all over them or over sized chili peppers are not meant to be fashion statements. They are comical, playful, silly covers for your derriere that are supposed to be worn while you watch the Simpsons IN THE PRIVACY OF YOUR OWN HOME.
In my mind there are only a handful of reasons one should wear pajamas in public. They all are emergency related: going to the hospital, evacuating your house in the even of a fire or flood ... you know times when you have no time to change.
What happened to the days of presenting your best self when you went out? Women used to wear nice dresses and men suits and hats. We all so looked dapper and clean. I know I just romanticizing that time period, and while we may have come a long way since then in terms of equality and technology our fashion sense has taken a nose dive.
I am not quite sure how it happen either. It must have been some celebrity (Michael Jackson) worn pajamas out in public ONE time and and suddenly that made it ok for everyone to do it. Well, it is not ok.
Clothing manufacturers seem to have given up too. They don't even label them pajama pants anymore. It is like they know that they aren't going to be worn solely for sleeping so way market them as such. I was looking for fun pajama bottoms for my husband for Christmas the other day and what I ended up buying were not even pajama bottoms. They were "lounge pants." I guess if you can't beat 'em, join 'em right?
Now I realize there are many degrees of elastic pants. There are exercise pants, yoga pants, jogging pants, pants with a giant words across the backside ... And I can't in good conscience say that all pants with an elastic waist band should only be worn inside the home, because I would be a giant hypocrite. So while I realize it is a slippery slope from yoga pants to pajamas in public let's all try to have some self control and take some pride in ourselves. You are all attractive, smart, hard-working members of society. At least change out of the pants covered with Stewie Griffin's face and put on pair of yoga pants or jogging pants before you head out the door.
I (and society as a whole) thank you in advance. I am sure your sheets thank you too ...
Thursday, December 5, 2013
I'd be the black sheep in Martha Stewart's family
I am not a crafty person. Well, not in a Martha Stewart, Pintrest post-worthy kind of way. Maybe in the rubbing her hands together maniacally laughing kind of way. But glue-gun savvy I am not.
However, this is the time of year where lots of people get their craft on in a serious way. I will also be getting my "craft" on, though only maybe only in a friendly way. See, crafting and I are friends, sure. We hang out occasionally, have a few laughs, sometimes alcohol is involved, but my desire for crafting is not enough to say we are in any kind of serious relationship. A flirtatious friendship is about all we will ever have.
Maybe it's because I kind of suck at it. I think I am missing the crafting gene or something. Other members of my family have it. My older sister is awesome at it. She makes all kind of things and creates cool cakes for her kids on their birthdays. She even makes her own Christmas cards. Crafty she is (only in the the Martha Stewart way, I promise). My younger sister is a pastry wizard and can make all kinds of beautiful cakes and cookies and the like. They are beautiful, they are delicious and so is she! My brother, well to be honest, I don't know how crafty he is. I know his wife is quite the craft wizard and they make some kick-ass Halloween costumes every year, so there is a good chance he acquired the craft gene as well.
Then there is me. The missing link. The one who DIDN'T get the craft gene (along with the gene that allows you to roll your tongue like a taco shell. (And now, how many of you who CAN do that little trick, just did it?? Show off!)
Don't get me wrong, I like to craft. And I always go into a crafting project with high hopes. I can see the end result in my mind and the steps to get there and it all seems very straight forward and simple. Then, somewhere between my brain and the materials I am using, it goes sideways. Maybe it's my hands, maybe it's my lack of patience, but when it is all said and done my little project either looks like it got hit by a Mack truck or a third grader did it (no offence to third graders out there, I am sure many of you could still do a better job than me.)
My only saving grace is my husband, who is very, very handy. Which, as it turns out, makes him a bit crafty. I don't know if men are supposed to be labeled as crafty, but sorry hun, you kind of are. And I am forever grateful for it! He has saved many a failing crafty project from catastrophe and me from having a nervous break down, with his keen art eye and proper use of a glue gun.
I was first rescued by my crafting knight more than 10 years ago when I decided I wanted to make my own veil for our wedding. The price of tulle, some trim and a comb seems outrageous to me and I thought "I can do that." Yea ... that was my first mistake -I thought. Fast forward two hours later to me cursing at myself in a blubbery mess with a glue gun in my hand. Not a good combo. My soon-to-be hubby charged to me side on his great white steed and soon I was no longer able to say that I made my own veil. We'll just say in was a team effort ...
Little did my husband know that that crafting bail out would be just one of many over the next 10 years and I can say with certainty that there is no end in sight. Because I am going to keep on crafting damn it and one of these days it will turn out just as I imagined it.
Last year I had a glimmer of hope that the crafting tables had turned when I decided to make not one, but TWO Pintrest crafts for our home, plus one more for grandparents. I knew I was a bit greedy with this endeavor, and I must have been hopped up on craft paint and tacky glue because I forged ahead like a soldier into battle. I had a few wounds to show for my efforts, only a few curse words were uttered and in the end, ONE of the projects turned out semi decent. Enough for me to post on Facebook and brag about it a little. The other, well, the other succumbed to typical "Sarah-ness" crafting-wise and I had to be saved by my husband. I mean I could have gotten by without his help, but then whoever looked at it would have wondered how much wine I had while making it. With a little fixing by Jeff it looks like I only had about two glasses, not four. (You'll never know how many I really had though, I'll never tell ... Not unless you get a couple glasses of wine in me ...)
And now back to the 2013 craft-a-ganza. Not quite sure what I am going to make this year. Something for the grandparents I am sure. I will probably bring the kids in to help on it this year. They are old enough, and if there are any imperfection (and trust me there will be), I can just pin it on the kids. (There's an A+ parenting move if I ever saw it.) Cause if it a kid makes a messy craft project it's always cute.
But if a 34-year-old does, it's just sad ...
However, this is the time of year where lots of people get their craft on in a serious way. I will also be getting my "craft" on, though only maybe only in a friendly way. See, crafting and I are friends, sure. We hang out occasionally, have a few laughs, sometimes alcohol is involved, but my desire for crafting is not enough to say we are in any kind of serious relationship. A flirtatious friendship is about all we will ever have.
Maybe it's because I kind of suck at it. I think I am missing the crafting gene or something. Other members of my family have it. My older sister is awesome at it. She makes all kind of things and creates cool cakes for her kids on their birthdays. She even makes her own Christmas cards. Crafty she is (only in the the Martha Stewart way, I promise). My younger sister is a pastry wizard and can make all kinds of beautiful cakes and cookies and the like. They are beautiful, they are delicious and so is she! My brother, well to be honest, I don't know how crafty he is. I know his wife is quite the craft wizard and they make some kick-ass Halloween costumes every year, so there is a good chance he acquired the craft gene as well.
Then there is me. The missing link. The one who DIDN'T get the craft gene (along with the gene that allows you to roll your tongue like a taco shell. (And now, how many of you who CAN do that little trick, just did it?? Show off!)
Don't get me wrong, I like to craft. And I always go into a crafting project with high hopes. I can see the end result in my mind and the steps to get there and it all seems very straight forward and simple. Then, somewhere between my brain and the materials I am using, it goes sideways. Maybe it's my hands, maybe it's my lack of patience, but when it is all said and done my little project either looks like it got hit by a Mack truck or a third grader did it (no offence to third graders out there, I am sure many of you could still do a better job than me.)
My only saving grace is my husband, who is very, very handy. Which, as it turns out, makes him a bit crafty. I don't know if men are supposed to be labeled as crafty, but sorry hun, you kind of are. And I am forever grateful for it! He has saved many a failing crafty project from catastrophe and me from having a nervous break down, with his keen art eye and proper use of a glue gun.
I was first rescued by my crafting knight more than 10 years ago when I decided I wanted to make my own veil for our wedding. The price of tulle, some trim and a comb seems outrageous to me and I thought "I can do that." Yea ... that was my first mistake -I thought. Fast forward two hours later to me cursing at myself in a blubbery mess with a glue gun in my hand. Not a good combo. My soon-to-be hubby charged to me side on his great white steed and soon I was no longer able to say that I made my own veil. We'll just say in was a team effort ...
Little did my husband know that that crafting bail out would be just one of many over the next 10 years and I can say with certainty that there is no end in sight. Because I am going to keep on crafting damn it and one of these days it will turn out just as I imagined it.
Last year I had a glimmer of hope that the crafting tables had turned when I decided to make not one, but TWO Pintrest crafts for our home, plus one more for grandparents. I knew I was a bit greedy with this endeavor, and I must have been hopped up on craft paint and tacky glue because I forged ahead like a soldier into battle. I had a few wounds to show for my efforts, only a few curse words were uttered and in the end, ONE of the projects turned out semi decent. Enough for me to post on Facebook and brag about it a little. The other, well, the other succumbed to typical "Sarah-ness" crafting-wise and I had to be saved by my husband. I mean I could have gotten by without his help, but then whoever looked at it would have wondered how much wine I had while making it. With a little fixing by Jeff it looks like I only had about two glasses, not four. (You'll never know how many I really had though, I'll never tell ... Not unless you get a couple glasses of wine in me ...)
And now back to the 2013 craft-a-ganza. Not quite sure what I am going to make this year. Something for the grandparents I am sure. I will probably bring the kids in to help on it this year. They are old enough, and if there are any imperfection (and trust me there will be), I can just pin it on the kids. (There's an A+ parenting move if I ever saw it.) Cause if it a kid makes a messy craft project it's always cute.
But if a 34-year-old does, it's just sad ...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)