Make Yourself Make

Impossible.

No way in hell.

I can't.

I suck at it.

Are you kidding me? I can't even get out of my pajamas!

This is my regular/random thought process when I think about sitting down to craft. >>>

>>> Actually, I don't really like the term "craft". It conveys images (for me, anyway) of mommies sitting around a table making topiaries out of hideous floral fabric and their children's saved belly button lint (it's a keepsake, you guys.) and secretly judging each other because your child's belly button lint is definitely the wrong color and OMG you are SUCH a bad mom.

And is that a STAIN on your WRINKLY khaki capri pants? For sooth ... thou art BANISHED. <<<

Okay, I may have a slightly bad attitude about the whole thing. AND THAT'S NOT EVEN THE POINT OF THIS POST. Sorry for being so judgy. And I'm not even sure what color my "khakis" used to be, so maybe you have something there ...



ANYWAY, I recently realized I have an epic list of excuses when it comes to finding time to make floral belly button lint topiaries create. This and that, that and this. The floor's dirty. The children aren't sleeping peacefully at the same time (HA!). There's things to scrub and dishes to stare mournfully at and, yeah.

LOTS of excuses.

Unfortunately, when I don't spend time creating (whether crocheting or fill-in-the-blank or making keepsakes), I tend to get a bit loopy. And grouchy. And weepy. It's like all this energy inside me is trying force itself out my nose and I'm just like STAHP. You suck at making stuff anyway; go alphabetize something and stress eat.

Perhaps this is because I'm a semi-creative (up for discussion) left-brained type-A person with a truck load of self-doubt and a perfectionist complex?

Maybe that's why I feel crazy all the time.

Also, these two ...

And this little one ...

Absolutely no idea who she inherited the attitude from ...

I'm slowly coming to realize, however, for the sake of my sanity (*evil laugh* What sanity?) and the sake of those around me, I need to set aside time to make things out of hideous floral fabric and I need to do it REGARDLESS of the end result.


In short (and rather un-eloquently), I need to make myself make.

If that means I am in yoga pants for the next nine years, well, that's just the way the cookie crumbles.

Actually, the cookie didn't have time to crumble ... neither did the leftover Easter candy ... or the potato chips ... or the brownies ...

GET IN MY BELLY!*

*the only line I know from Austin Powers ... most likely wildly out of context. So there.