Mourning the Loss of SimplicityFebruary 14th, 2013
Yesterday, I posted this little ranty Facebook status after having spent some time on the Twitters, seeing people discussing the merits of home bought vs. store made Valentines Day Cards:
I’m certain that modern day makes parenthood significantly more complicated than ever before. People are actually debating hand-made vs. store bought Valentines Day cards? Come on, I know you’re all up to your eyeballs in Pinterest and have hand cut and glued 32 Valentines cards which you then adhered to hand dipped, gluten free, vegan, nut free, heart shaped candy sticks you swathed in recycled paper for a bunch of 3 year olds but SOME of us are busy working and living our lives and SOME of us grew up on those little perforated boxed Valentines popped into a paper bag with our names on them and we are just fine!
And then it started somewhat of a debate between crafty working moms who can do it all, and those of us (me) who can’t.
I’m going to let that sink in for a moment…people are debating VALENTINES cards, for children, from children, on the internet.
Now I get it, some of you people seem to have oodles of time and are either crafty or creative. Honestly, I’m jealous. I lack the time, and frankly the energy to do about 99% of the things on Pinterest. In all honesty I don’t even go on there anymore because fuck that shit. I give accolades to all of you for your doings, but I just cannot take it on myself. My kid is loved in 1000 ways but none of them include a glue gun or the herpes of crafting – glitter. None of us mothers are doing this thing better, we’re just doing it differently
For the most part, this doesn’t get to me. My mother wasn’t exactly the crafting type and I’m pretty much alright. However, when I see people clearly going out of their way to PROVE they are better parents because they cut some craft paper into a heart shape, it bothers me. I’m not even talking about the majority of people showing their craft or posting photos of the creative process and the fun they had. I’m talking about the people who cannot help but shove in your face how fucking wonderful they are. Do you know what doesn’t make you wonderful? Being a glory hogging asshole.
Look, I think crafting is wonderful. If you enjoy it and your child is into it, then of course, by all means, hand make some stuff up! I get it, it’s more about the process and less about the final product. However for me and my child, it more times than not ends up with someone in tears. I lack skill, she lacks patience, we both lack the wherewithal to see it through. We just weren’t cut out for the Pinterest era, but I refuse to be shamed into it. And in all honesty, Hallmark holidays last 1 day so I don’t have 12 days to sink into the prep, and 4 more to sink into the clean up.
I don’t make salads in mason jars. I don’t have a batch of ready made muffin mix carefully portioned into 12 muffins and frozen so I can throw seasonal berries into them after a particularly sunny trip to the farmer’s market. I’ve paid someone to make every birthday cake my child has had (and will continue to do so) and I certainly haven’t had time to tie-dye some hemp before weaving little hearts out of it to be used as a hair accessory or coasters. It’s just, not me. If it’s you and you ENJOY it, then that’s rad. If you begrudgingly try to keep up with the craftimommies and then find yourself crying into you wine wondering how you messed up something so simple time and again, then maybe just opt out.
My kid and I, we do other things together, which sometimes includes stuffing our faces with those heart healthy, gluten free, carob muffins you made for her. We do our thing and you do yours, and that’s cool until it’s not. It’s cool until there is nothing easy left in the world. Until mother is pinning herself against mother in the ultimate race to live off as little sleep as humanly possible in order to deliver a handmade Valentines gift. Because I’ll tell you what, handmade cards hit the trash can just as fast as the perforated ones do, but with twice the guilt.