Crafts. I am not cut out for it. (Cut-out. It’s a craft pun.) I was not meant to do these things. And G doesn’t even really care if we do them or not.
I grew up in a no-craft zone. There was no felt. There were no pipe cleaners. There was construction paper, but you drew on it. You did not cut out shapes. It’s not like I grew up in a house where fun or messes weren’t allowed. They were. We just weren’t a crafty family. Our craft was word-play. We would try to out-pun one another, or make up funny rhymes, come up with new names for businesses in the neighborhood… Or perfect the craft of sarcasm.
G is growing up in a house like that, too. And I love it. But I keep thinking I should at least TRY to squeeze in some craft time. Some “let’s sit next to each other and glue things on other things and make stuff” time.
Well… I shouldn’t. Here is what happened this morning. I promise I will not exaggerate.
I decided G and I should have an easy morning. I’d bring him to school at 10:00 instead of 9:00 today, so we could have one morning where we weren’t rushing, and we could (say it with me) DO A CRAFT.
I thought this napkin ring craft would be super fun and it looked rather easy. I cut out the templates, got out our felt and the fabric glue I bought two days ago, and brought it all to the kitchen table. I also cut 5 toilet paper rolls in half to make it easier to set the rings of felt once they were glued. G was bored already.
I got to work tracing the templates and he got to work cutting out the long rectangles that make the rings. “Can I be done after this?”, he asked like a kid who knows his mom shouldn’t be doing these things. “No”, I answered like a mom determined to be… better. “If you stop after that, then I’m the only one making these napkin rings. And no one cares about napkin rings that Mommy makes. They all want napkin rings that YOU make!”
Let’s not dissect that, okay? He sighed heavily and continued cutting.
Then I got out the fabric glue. The word “cancer” was mentioned at least three times on the label, which I had neglected to read while in my shopping stupor at Michael’s. I opened windows and decided to glue these rings as quickly as possible. I opened the cap, turned it over to pop open the foil and OH MY GOD THE STENCH!! This stuff smelled like it could kill a 300-pound gorilla with one sniff. I quickly put on the funnel cap that the glue is supposed to come out of and started to squeeze the tube. Nothing came out. The freaking hole on the tip on the funnel wasn’t open. I tried to open with a toothpick but the toothpick bent. So I decided to take the funnel off and get a q-tip to put the glue on with. Holding the glue in one hand and the funnel in the other, I made my way to the bathroom and slid on the LASSO Garrett had left in the middle of the floor. Yes, the lasso. I miraculously held myself from falling and dropping the glue to the ground, but instead I flew into the wicker toy chest and scraped my leg pretty good. It is only by the grace of God that no glue flew at my face or hair or ANYTHING.
Back to the table with the q-tips. The q-tips weren’t working, so I quickly abandoned that idea and let the glue flow directly from the tube. After all ten rings were glued I exclaimed, “SCREW THIS STUFF!” and put all glue paraphernalia in a ziplock bag to throw away. As I began the next step, the glue smell permeated the air. I removed the rings to the table outside and wished them well.
Every kind of cancer runs in my family. If you die in my family, it’s from cancer. Even if you get really old, you don’t die of old age… You wait for the cancer. I’m pretty sure I gave myself some kind of glue cancer today, but hopefully it won’t take me until I’m in my 80′s.
Now it was on to the rest of the cut-outs. I interrupted G’s actual fun and asked him to cut out the yellow turkey bodies. He did. Sort of. I finished them. Then I cut out the waddles and asked G to glue those on WITH REGULAR GLUE THAT SMELLS LIKE NOTHING AND DOESN’T GIVE YOU CANCER. He did. Then I excitedly asked if he wanted to glue on the googly eyes. He said he didn’t. I begged. He said no. I begged more. He said, “Okay, I’ll glue one on each turkey and you do the other one.” I thought that was a great compromise. I ignored the fact that we were both completely miserable.
After careful consideration, I thought the napkin rings were better suited for the outdoors, and that maybe we should turn our turkeys into place cards. I convinced Garrett this was wise, and felt good about it.
Later we’re making napkin rings out of pipe cleaners that I bought not knowing what the hell I was going to do with them. That should be good fun, no?
Remind me not to buy any felt or pipe cleaners for Hannukah or Christmas. Or any day, for that matter. I’m not crafty, and I need to be okay with that.
Here’s what the place-cards will pretty much look like:
And if one of you even tries to encourage me to “keep crafting”, I’ll punch you with a fist template and stab you with a popsicle stick.