I have good intentions. In my mind I’m the type of mom who’s sneaking in wheat germ, the kind of wife who’s still buying sexy underthings, the kind of woman who finds time to read and return phone calls. But I’m not. I haven’t written a real letter to a friend in ages. Everything is typed into little white boxes via IM, Facebook, and Flickr. And in truth, I don’t even know what the latest trends are. I haven’t picked up a magazine for just the pictures and matchy ensembles since Linus was in town. Still, I make an effort. I subscribe to fashion newsletters, receive updates on the new restaurant openings (both here in Austin and in New York), and each day an email arrives from Martha Stewart titled "Craft of the Day." And this, dear friends, is the death of me.
Here’s what I’ve got to say: don’t read craft magazines; they’ll only make you feel inept. Unless of course you have the time to be constructing sake-box planters topped with plastic wrap, intended to be miniature greenhouses.
I wish my adult life could be more like school, where my time was divided into blocks of subjects. I’d be able to make time each day for child rearing, grooming, writing, and making my own soaps and soups.
When I received an email in celebration of Earth Day, urging me to create a shoulder bag with an "orphaned pillowcase," I realized I’d sooner raise chickens than use a pillowcase as my handbag. One day there will be time for pipe cleaner art, for creating a wreath made of seashells, and for stamping envelopes with wax seals. In the meanwhile, I’ll compose to-do lists I’ll never get through and keep a good distance away from the craft glue–except to occasionally sniff it.