I saw you at drop-off this morning and recognized you as my tribe. Allow me to sing you the song of our people:
(To the tune of Adele’s Hello because nobody’s made a parody of that yet)
Hello from my Mommy tribe,
That crafty crap I can’t abide,
What do you think I even do with my time,
Because searching Pinterest makes me lose my mind
Hello big box store plus cash,
Since I don’t have a crafty stash,
Pre-package snacks and a box of cheap Valentines,
Are all that I can give this school of what’s mine anymore.
It’s only fair I get to be the tribal chief since I managed to adhere some dollar store foam hearts onto the red Christmas wrapping paper.
Actually, that’s a lie. I gathered the paltry materials and put Hubs in charge of assembling it with her. However, I did manage to cut Sweet T’s last name off one of the label stickers we use for her personal belongings and
slap it strategically place it on the front.
That’s a step up from what her Valentine box looked like last year. Who needs to bother wrapping the tissue box when she-who-shall-not-be-named is already on it? Hubs made the minion because I was hyperventilating with “Pinterest stress.” And I’m a craft blogger. Sort of.
Anyway, I saw you at drop-off this morning and I saw the side-eye you gave to that mom carrying a pirate ship complete with working cannons. It’s a miracle that I even noticed since I was busy giving her side-eye too. Why? Because I enjoy articles like this one. In fact, I almost wish I wrote that. Almost.
The fact is, no matter how much I wish everyone would set down their glue guns and allow me to wallow in the comfort of 1980’s pre-internet expectations, I know that Pirate Ship Mom didn’t forge her one-of-a-kind creation in the flames of Mount Doom as a nefarious plan to make me doubt my self-worth as a mother. I’m doing that all on my own (the self-doubting. Not the trip to Mordor.)
She made it because she’s crafty and enjoys creating for and with her children. She’s using her gifts to have fun and bless her family. (That or she really is the Dark Lord of Barad-dûr. I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt here lest I sound paranoid.)
So the next time you see Facebook friends whose magical wizbangedness produced an illuminated Valentine box with a battery-operated wagging tongue,
resist the urge to wallow in mom guilt and leave a self-deprecating comment about how simple your plain old box is (like I did.) Instead, give her a thumbs up and compliment her hard work and mad skilz. She’s the mom you’re going to run to when you’ve committed to throwing a hot chocolate bar party for 20 moms at your house in one week and don’t know where to start. (completely hypothetical situation)
*breathes into paper bag*
Because whether your child’s Valentine box has battery-operated movable parts or came from leftover Christmas supplies, we’re all the same tribe, Mama. (But I still get to be chief.)