Have you ever noticed that the Christmas holiday brings with it the expectation that all those who celebrate will do so with creativity and imagination? There are cookies to bake, Christmas cards to craft, gingerbread houses to construct and candy to make. Your neighbors are decorating their front porches with wreaths and adorable little candy cane lanterns and possibly dropping by with baskets full of homemade goodies. You are expected, in turn, to do exactly the same thing…and enjoy yourself. After all, expending your creative juices is all part of the yuletide cheer, is it not?
Well, I’m here to attest that not all folks are cut from the same cloth.There’s your “crafters” whocanconstruct an entire Nativity diorama out of 3 pipe cleaners, 2 tongue depressors,some cotton balls, and a jar ofglitter. Andthen thereare the other people who, quite frankly, wouldn’t know a diorama if it came up and introduced itself. I guess I’m one of those people.I just don’t do crafty things. Andtrust me, I’ve tried. For instance, you may have read my post about my sewing machine. I had all kinds of grand plans for that little magic maker. I was going to make pillow covers and doll clothes. I even had this idea that I would try my hand at crafting Christmas table runners and throws. Well, I can’t. And please don’t try to throw me comments of encouragement like, “Yes you can, Mindy. Once you figure it out it’s sooo easy.” No, it isn’t. And quite frankly, if I try even one more time I’m pretty sure that I will cause bodily harm to the machine. Ugly bodily harm.
Even though I have long known I belong in the “non-crafter” class of citizen, last year I decided to deliver Christmas cookies to my surrounding neighbors. I bought these adorable little tins that I lined with wax paper and planned on adorning with raffia I bought at the craft store. Me…at a craft store. Wow. So I baked this kick-butt cookie aptly named “Ranger cookie” for its likeness to a trail mix bar. They have c’raisins and oatmeal, coconut and chocolate chips. And they’re huge. Which I hadn’t thought about. Which I’m pretty sure if I were the “crafter” type it would have been first and foremost in my mind when planning out my attempt at being all neighborly. I shoved and sorted those cookies at least a dozen different ways and finally was able to fit into each adorable little tin…two. Two frickin’ cookies. Not even enough to supply dessert for the typical “nuclear” family. Can you imagine delivering a Christmas tin with two cookies? I can. And I did. I also beat feet back to my house before any of the neighbors could open their tins and say something like, “Wow…you really shouldn’t have. This is…great. Um…thanks.”
I don’t think I’ll be delivering Christmas cookies this year. Quite honestly, I’m still recovering from the humiliation of last year’s debacle. I’m fully expecting to be paid back in turn by each neighbor any day now with chunks of coal and decade-old candy canes.
I bought a Gingerbread house kit this year because my daughter, Avery, has been begging me all season long to build one. It’s the easy type too…the Gingerbread house for Dummies…if you will.But you know what? It intimidated the heck out of me. That packagingwas staring at me for a week and a half before I finally gave in and assignedthe job to Jer. Youknow why? Because I’m not a”crafter”. Because I would havefound the one loophole in the “easy to assemble” instructions. My royal icing would havewent all to hell which means the house wouldn’t have stayed standing upright, the candy would havehad nothing to glue to and the finished result would haveprobably made both of my kids cry. But, Jer?
Yeah, hepretty much rocked it out. Figures.
Okay, so when God was handing out skill in the crafts department I’m pretty sure I was too busy talking to raise my hand for my fair share. But that’s okay. We can’t all be skilled in this particular area because otherwise nothing would be appreciated for the time and effort it deserves.Some of us have topurchase our crafts from Targetattempting topass them off as “homemade”. Hey, there’s a placefor all of us in this big ol’world. Embrace who you are and move on. I have. And you know what? Hairspray does wonders at removing those sticky pricetags.