Don’t Go Hatin’: We Come In Peace
That mom. You know which one I’m talking about. She possesses an arsenal of glue dots. She has a pimped out craft room complete with wooden dowels, pipe cleaners, and card stock. She devotes certain scissors solely to fabric. She has a stash of cookie cutters in a variety of pumpkin sizes and shapes (including gourds). Her cupcake travel gear is superior to her own personal luggage.
She’s the overachiever who shows up with cupcakes piped in frosting colors not available in stores. She’s the one who eats, sleeps, and breathes the motto, “Form follows function.” Ice cream cones are shaved down, and with icing, adhered to cookies in order to serve as tea cups at her daughter’s tea party themed birthday. Her kid is the one who can’t tell you what’s inside the intricately assembled Valentine’s Day treat because he honestly has no fucking clue. Sure, his name is on it, but that’s the extent of his involvement — assuming his mother actually allowed him near it.
I know. Big hairy eye-roll, right? But before you go rolling those pretty eyes into the back of your head, I need to let you in on a little secret. I assure you that although our glue guns are poised with a finger on the trigger, most of us come in peace. So don’t go hatin’.
Yes — we come in peace. Although our overzealous attitude is reminiscent of Tracy Flick, Witherspoon’s character in the movie Election, we are not trying to make you look like a slacker. We have no “Pintrest” in showing you up. Honestly, we could give a rat’s ass that your kid’s Valentine was printed somewhere in China and subsequently purchased in Target’s seasonal section. (We do care, however, that you didn’t attach any candy to it. Failing to do so results in whining when one of our kids compares her stash to her sibling’s. So for fuck’s sake, stick a lollipop on that pre-printed “You’re One In A Minion” sentiment and help a sista out.)
We are also not crafting our bleeding fingers to the bone so we can look amazing. Chances are, if you complimented any of our craft-crazed concoctions, we’d frown and proceed to point out every flaw. We can never truly believe we are “amazing” because we are too fixated on every minuscule mistake. (Trust me — there are mistakes if you look closely enough; we are moms after all.) And we can never consider ourselves amaze-balls because we’re already thinking about how much better we can make it the next time.
So if the majority of us are not trying to make you look bad or trying to make ourselves look awesome, why do we even bother?
Some of us are crafty by nature. The itch to pick up pinking shears can be as acute as another’s need for booze after a long day of being stuck home with her kids. For others, it’s a form of productivity and control. They, like me, may have left the civilized world of work to raise children. I know most days my world feels devoid of logic, reason, and purpose. I ask my kids to complete a 30 second task, and there we are 20 minutes later. I become the catalyst for hunger strikes because the food I serve is “too colorful.” I can spend an entire day de-cluttering and organizing my home, and turn around two minutes later to find dirty socks, cups, and random crap that’s been expelled from the bowels of a birthday piñata. So for some moms, like me, Pintrest serves as our beacon. There, ideas are organized into tidy little rectangular boxes with softened corners, and we embrace them because they don’t try to elbow us in the face and run off to wreak havoc in our homes. These crafting tutorials, along with their clearly delineated steps, offer us courage and hope that what we make this time will withstand the imperfect, preposterous landscape of motherhood.
So the next time your child comes home from school with a craft that was obviously made by “that mom,” remember this: Don’t go hatin’. We come in peace.