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Dying to My Not So Crafty Self

by Karen Edmisten in Family on Tuesday, August 11, 2009 6:00 AM

I used to regularly live this nightmare: I’m in a room with other mothers and the conversation turns to arts and crafts … I’m suddenly the deer in the headlights. I stand very still, my eyes darting wildly; I’m stunned at the creativity and competence before me. “If I don’t make a sound,” I think, “they won’t see me. And maybe no one will ask about glue guns.”

I admit it: I didn’t buy my first glue gun until my oldest child was eleven. (There, I said it.) I immediately tried to sound like an old pro (“I just plugged in the glue gun,” I’d say casually to a friend on the phone.)  I confess I also dreaded visits to Hobby Lobby and until a few years ago I had no idea what Perler beads were (or why anyone would want to Perler or bead.) If pressed, I could give a coherent explanation of papier mache, but I’d never actually used the stuff with my kids.

Now, all that has changed. I resolved to become a craftier mom. I stretched myself as one would stretch (uh-oh … I can’t make a clever analogy because I haven’t done a stretching craft.) Suffice to say that I now know what those soap mold thingies are for, I’ve happily bookmarked websites touting “101 Crafts You Never Knew Existed,”  and I know how much to pay for a bag of pom-poms.

Embrace the New

This wasn’t a purely artsy choice; it was a spiritual one. The vocation of motherhood constantly challenges me to let go of the old self and embrace the new creation I’m becoming.  Along with the self-sacrifice required to endure labor or nurse a baby at 4 a.m., comes other kinds of giving: singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” thirty-seven times in a row, heading to a playground when I’d rather have a nap, giving up my night owl ways in order to be a pleasant mom at lunchtime, and learning how to use the word “craft” as a verb.

In my new identity as Crafty Mom, I’ve accomplished the following feats, with a little help from moms who actually, really enjoy this stuff:  a diorama, snow globes made from baby food jars, and popsicle stick picture frames (which were actually quite a challenge in my pre-glue gun days. And stop laughing.) We’ve made homemade books and bean bags and we’ve knit scarves. Not impressed yet? I’ve been within inches of a variety of balloon animals and clothespin dolls arrayed in elegant, origami outfits. I’ve supervised the construction of a papier mache volcano and my daughters and I have made pillows (this actually required sewing … can you imagine?).

My crowning glory just might be the “sit upon” for camping (which I don’t actually do, of course. My idea of roughing it is washing dishes in a fully equipped cabin instead of using the paper plates.)

But guess what? All of the above was fun. Because, in learning about glue guns and varieties of glitter, I learned a couple of other things: first, to stop worrying about perfection, and second (but more important) to just do it, for my kids.

A Different Kind of Perfection

I shied away from crafts because I felt inadequate— I thought our finished products were supposed to look like Martha Stewart had stopped by to help. But my kids don’t expect perfection. Correction: In their eyes, their crafts are perfect, because they made this stuff. With interest, eagerness and love. And isn’t that a lot like being a mom? I think of my kids as perfect because I made them with interest, eagerness and love ... because they’re mine. And because they’re worth letting go of the old “I-don’t-do-crafts” me in order to gain something else of infinite value: a terrific time with my kids.

The magic of a craft is in that time together. My children drove that lesson home every time we laughed through glops of glue and bungled directions. They taught me with their sparkling eyes, the way they thrilled at the sight of paints and a smock. They catechized me when they glowed with pride as I touted, “That is the best yarn doll I’ve ever seen!”

I’m still the mom who might count bubble-sculpting in the bathtub as art, but I now appreciate that the craft cupboard isn’t about keeping kids busy on a rainy afternoon. For me, crafts are about self-donation and irreplaceable memories.

Of course, the only problem with this conclusion is what logically follows. I’ll have to start shopping for a tent, won’t I? Real camping might be next.

— Karen Edmisten is author of The Rosary: Keeping Company with Jesus and Mary. Read her blog at KarenEdmisten.Blogspot.com.

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Get Thee Behind Me, Depression

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Modesty in Motion