Note: By popular demand, this post has been edited to include a picture of the crappy craft in question.
I have that decided that 365 days is a long time. It is long enough for a child to grow a few inches and learn to go on the potty (well, all children except for mine).
And long enough for me to forget that I despise doing crafts. That I have never liked doing crafts. That I will never like doing crafts.
Yet for some reason, I still persist in attending Super Saturday’s craft extravaganza at the church every year. I had snubbed my ward’s efforts to recruit me and was almost free of SS Bond*age…until I saw another congregation’s display. A display with loads of cute crafts. And before I could control that blasted pen, it signed my life away.
As instructed last year, Jamie shook his head in vehement disagreement when I informed him of my latest ambition because he knows it is he who receives my wrath. Just like every year, I ignored him by reasoning that, “Just maybe this time will be different.”
It wasn’t.
Unlike last year, I signed up for only two crafts. The first was a pair of decorative Christmas skis and the second must remain secret because the unfortunate recipient reads this blog. Oh, and because it turned out ugly and may just end up in the dumpster.
The skis were simple. The leader’s husband had cut, sanded and painted them red. All that was required was to stencil a few snowflakes, flick some fake snow, sand again and tie a decorative wreath around them. Sounds like a no-brainer?
Evidently I do not have a brain.
Everything went wrong from the start. As it turns out, I am not a stenciller and produced Hanz and Franz snowflakes on steroids. They were so disastrous the leader had to go home and retrieve the red paint so I could start over. I felt horribly but she consoled me, “Don’t worry. There will probably be other people who mess up so it is good I have this.”
There weren’t.
As I repainted the skis, the leader warned, “Make sure not to stencil until they are dry.”
In any other setting where I am actually in my element, I may have had a sarcastic retort such as, “What, do you think I’m completely clueless?” But I kept my mouth shut. Best not to confirm the obvious.
For my other project, my first paint layer went on marvelously. But when it came time to apply the second coat, the teacher was nowhere to be found. I saw the paint and brush and thought, “Hey, I can do this on my own.”
As it turns out, I couldn’t because I was supposed to delicately apply the paint with a rag. When the teacher returned (after being so inconsiderate as to think she could take a bathroom break), she systematically collapsed and started vigorously rubbing the paint off. She eventually made it presentable but sadly that was not the end of my mistakes.
As she toured around the tables she made comments to the other women such as, “Oh, Sally. I love the blend of colors you used.” Or “Joelle, that turned out just marvelously.”
But to me? “Don’t worry. It is all very fixable.”
I have decided I may just go into business for it all. But instead of those product lines that profess to be Gifts from the Heart? Mine would be Gifts from the Gut.
Do you think I have a market out there?
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 