But I do feel a little guilty about not being a craft mom.
I hate crafts. I don't use "hate" often, but I really do hate crafts. Cutting and gluing and designing sends yucky shivers down my back. I get anxious about having to think out something visually. It never looks great, unless I copy something someone else has designed, and even then my execution is terrible. So because I don't craft, my boys don't get the chance to craft. (Thankfully I have boys, so I don't think it's such a detrimental thing.)
Usually I don't let it bother me much. And then come the holidays. That's when I really feel bad about it.
I have friends who are incredible at decorating their house with holiday dollar store buys. They paint eggs at Easter and make tree decorations at Christmas and have fun tabletop activities at Halloween. Birthdays are an event unmatched. Inspired by such friends (in town and online) I have been trying to spend a little money at the Dollar Store and give the house a festive look during the holidays. Somehow it always just ends up looking like some straggly left-overs thrown up in a pathetic attempt to reluctantly celebrate. I just don't have it in me.
Easter just came and went. We had a great egg hunt in the backyard with the boys. (The squirrel got some eggs, as did the sun, but the boys ended up with enough to make it a fun adventure.) But that was the extent of our Easter celebrations, aside from the straggly boa-like things hanging over doorways and the fireplace, and the plastic egg filled vase on the kitchen table that James always moves because he can't stand it being between him and the person on the other side of the table.
I read/heard/saw photos of some of my friends' fantastic Easter efforts, and wished I had done more. But then I really thought about it, and how, because of my craft talent deficiency, it would have taken an immense amount of effort and preparation and work, and I really don't know that my boys would have spent more than 5 seconds actually doing any of it.
Ahhh. This feels like a very fruitless journal entry. I'm not writing in hopes that I discover anything new about myself, or to talk through the situation to try and change it. I'm just laying it all out there, (a little on the whinny side) and leaving it at this:
It's just not my thing.