With Valentine’s Day behind us, I would love to write about how we could tone it all down a bit. Between the birthday parties that could be featured on an HGTV show and some of the Valentine’s my kids bring home from school that look creative and elaborate enough to be sold on Etsy—my children are being exposed to a level of craftiness that I am not prepared to provide. Since I’m not a Pinterest-level crafter, party planner, or class snack maker I would love to make a plea that we channel the ‘parent from the ’80s’ that lives within all of us and tone it down a bit, but I have a feeling that might not be fair.
I first realized that Pinterest moms move among us at a 3-year-olds’ class Christmas party where my child was served a ‘Baby Jesus in a Manger’ snack. The manger was two graham crackers held together with peanut butter and propped up with pretzel sticks. The straw in the manger was finely shredded Colby Jack cheddar cheese. Baby Jesus wrapped in swaddling clothes was represented by a mini sausage wrapped in a Pillsbury crescent roll; and my child promptly bit his head off.
‘They are three years old!’ I thought to myself. ‘They don’t care if the snack is lovingly crafted to resemble the Messiah or store-bought cheese puffs straight from a bag.’
I quickly came to the conclusion that this mom was only trying to impress other moms as I watched my child scoop peanut butter off her plate with a broken-off piece of our Lord and Savior’s bed; but it’s possible I was wrong,
When I see the Instagram pictures of perfectly-put-together birthday parties with personalized water bottle labels, themed food, and coordinated décor that didn’t come from Party City—it’s hard for me not to roll my eyes. The last kid birthday party I threw was at a municipal park with pizza, Capri Sun, jumbo Pixy Stix, and a party-in-a-bag pack of decor. The party was great and my daughter was happy—why all the over-the-top planning and crafting and cooking and decorating? To show off, of course. Right? It couldn’t be that the Pinterest-level crafting moms just enjoy that kind of thing, could it?
I’ve heard tell of people who know where things are at Michaels craft store because they go there often. When something like a school project requires me to walk into Michaels, I feel like a fraud and am half-expecting an alarm to go off and a sign to light up that says, ‘NOT CRAFTY.’ I wouldn’t be surprised if the sales associates are whispering into their walkie-talkies, “We’ve got a crafting-challenged mom on aisle 3. Somebody go tell her you can’t hot glue Styrofoam directly without melting it and then show her where the rest of the stuff is that she needs before she irritates the Real Crafter Customers.” So, maybe it’s possible that the Real Crafter Customers actually like creating customized party favors and aren’t muttering, “I’ll show those other moms who the most creative birthday party decorator is, I’ll show them all!” as they hot glue rhinestones to things or whatever it is they do.
I read an article once by Glennon Doyle in which she tells the story of being at a mall food court with her kids who were eating a meal of fried carcinogens while melting down and making messes. At the table next to them, a mother and her well-dressed toddler daughter sit down and proceed to have a calm lunch of nutritious food the woman had packed and brought from home. The toddler happily ate avocado and didn’t even throw any on the floor. As Glennon watched this scene unfold, she felt that this stranger was putting on a show of good parenting and healthy eating AT HER. She was feeding her child real food AT Glennon who was feeding her kids questionable chicken and cancer-causing pizza. This other woman was a complete stranger but Glennon just knew that the way the other woman lived her life was a judgment of the way Glennon lived hers.
I would like to think that the moms who send hand-crafted Valentine’s cards and homemade heart cookies with gluten-free, dairy-free, brain-boosting icing to school are ridiculous and clearly out to prove they are craftier than I. That would fit the story I have in my head quite nicely, but maybe they just like to bake with their kids? That’s far-fetched, I know, because everybody knows baking with kids is the fastest way to become someone who starts drinking wine at 4:00 p.m. while scrubbing food dye off the ceiling and vacuuming flour from the floor before the dog walks through it again. But, maybe?
I may not totally understand how it is that someone can find joy in planning a kid’s birthday party for weeks, or enjoy baking things that can be purchased at Kroger without having to clean up a single sprinkle, but I’m willing to entertain the idea that people like this exist. I am even beginning to believe they might not be thinking about me or the other store-bought moms when they peruse Pinterest for the newest in preschool Valentine craft innovations.
There are a lot of weirdos out there in the world: people who read the end of books first, people who can scroll past a video montage of people falling without watching it, and people who don’t like chocolate—I know this one because I’m married to one of those weirdos. There are even people who, this is so bizarre it’s hard to type, enjoy organizing. My friend Molly Berry has been Marie Kondo-ing people in Jackson since long before Jackson had heard of Marie Kondo and she does it because she actually enjoys it. Since most people don’t have such ludicrous hobbies, they pay her to do it for them. I know this because for Christmas one year I asked for Molly as my gift.
Thank goodness weirdos like Molly exist or my family wouldn’t be able to safely open most closet doors, and thank goodness for my chocolate-hater husband because that means more chocolate for me. The crafters and Pinterest-level party planners and homemade snack makers? Thanks be to God for them as well, because if I can stop thinking they are over-the-topping their lives AT ME, I might just be glad my kids get to have a few really fancy Valentine’s, go to awesome birthday parties, and see a beautifully decorated cake table the likes of which they will probably not have provided to them by their own mother until their weddings.
Maybe we should stop assuming everyone is parenting at each other and just parent at our own kids in the ways that make us happy and keep us sane? We could even make a deal. Since kids are capricious creatures and always seem to want the opposite of what is most readily available to them, how about the store-bought moms send their kids to the homemade crafter moms’ houses to bake and use glitter and whatever other fresh hell those creative types come up with, and the homemade crafter moms can send their kids to the store-bought moms’ houses for preservatives in a bag and iced cookies in a carton from McDade’s and the kind of Valentine making that involves sliding a sucker stick through a slot in a folded piece of cardboard? I’m willing to bet we’d both end up with happy kids at the end of the day.
P.S. I still reserve the right to curse you when my kids see your fancy stuff or the fact that you decorated for a minor holiday that I had planned to skate past, and talk me into anything that makes me have to Google, ‘how to make a…’ These things will still be your fault and I will still blame you—just so we’re clear on that.
Elizabeth Quinn makes her home in Northeast Jackson with her husband Percy and four children.
