There are a few defining moments in our lives. That never leave us. Despite how hard we try to forget them or bury them or act as if they never happened some are just too traumatic to forget. And with December 1st EVERY DAMN year one of my defining moments returns to my head & stings like a shot of Goldschlager coming back up after a night of drinking….not that I would have any idea at all how bad that stings.

It was 7th grade. I was 13 years old. It was Home Ec class. I had signed up for it because I needed this elective and I thought it’d be easy. Idiot. We were doing the sewing section of the semester. Our project which made up a LARGE portion of our grade was to sew a pair of sweatpants then put them on and wear them for the class. My Nanny is an amazing seamstress so she helped me pick out the material. Red. Thick knit. Like old school Jerzee sweats we used to wear. Not easy to sew through I tell you. And looking back if my Nanny had loved me she would have taken me to KMART, bought some premade sweatpants and cut the tag out. By this point she knew me well enough to know this had disaster written all over it. But, unfortunately, she is part of the crazy honest side of my family….

We had to utilize time given in class to sit at the sewing machines and sew. This was NOT a take home project. I proceeded to sew. And sew. And sew. And cut thread and play with the bobbin thingy and use my pattern sheets to trace on my thick red material. And when I finished they looked ok. And we were sent to the bathroom to put them on and wear them into class to model them and get our final grade. Let me further explain that at this particular time in my life I had an unfortunate mullet perm, braces, an inclination for wearing horrible sweater vests and thick THICK glasses. I would find my “cute” a year or two later but I was FAAAAAR from that at this point.

I put the pants on. I took them off. I turned them around. I put them on again. I took them off. I turned them inside out. I turned around. I tried every which way to get the sweatpants on correctly then realized…oh god….i sewed the legs together. Literally…sewed the legs together from the crotch to just below the knee. SWEET. I waddled like a penguin into class in tears (and glasses and a bad perm) and felt the weight of 20 some odd junior high kids laughing. Im pretty damn sure that sadistic teacher laughed too. I got a C. In Home Ec. Talk about foreshadowing…..

Fast forward to two kids and me attempting to make “party treats” for birthdays. Or bake and decorate cupcakes. Or mend Maddie’s sweater. Or paint her name on a cute chalkboard for her room. Or bedazzle some flip flops for a summer swim party. ALLLLL above situations were hive-inducing, anxiety causing moments that resulted in disasters that would not pass for a second grader’s work. I cannot craft. I cannot sew. I cannot scrap book. I cannot decorate chotchkys. I don’t even know what a chotchky is. Every stupid Christmas ornament I ever had to help my kids decorate for some stupid, asinine class party that some asshole of a Mom who is GREAT at crafts and who churns her own butter and makes all of her cookies from scratch and sews her children custom clothes put together and organized, ended in tears and a Santa Clause painted with sharpie that resembled JJ from Good Times more than Jolly Old St Nick. And don’t get me started on those stupid pipe cleaner reindeer plates. God damn it.

I feel that you crafty people use the time period from December 1st through Christmas to deflate the egos of us non-super-humans. You post your quilts and blankets that you hand-put-together…or whatever the term is. You post your little Santa cookies that look like Martha Stewart made them by hand but YOU swear you just “threw together last minute for silly little Bobby’s Christmas Party tomorrow.” Your decoupage, your homemade treats, your wreaths made of homespun gold…all of it….makes me hate you. And please don’t take this personally. It’s more of a self hatred that I am projecting on you. Because you can and I CANT. Once when I tried to hand paint party favors for Maddie’s birthday party she took one look and said “Mom…know your strengths…this is NOT one.”

Hell. So I just want you to know that my strengths are clicking on “purchase now” on Amazon, finding cute ornaments at Pier 1, buying cookies from the bakery, and throwing every picture Ive EVER taken of my family into a shoe box and hopefully one day…oh hell who am I kidding. Those pictures are never leaving that box. It’s a digital world now. My kids may as well not have existed before 2005.

I hate you. I do. But its only out of jealousy. You should embrace your gift of crafting and brag about it all over the Facebook and Instagram. And when I “like” it know that I really do like it just not you. And I will like you again January 1st. I am good at drinking wine. I think I’ll go drink some now in my wine glass that I painted last week at my Chi Omega Alum event. And so what if my owl resembles some scary, skinny buzzard….the wine tastes the same whether the glass is cute or not! ;)-