Confessions of a Domestic Failure Page 9

  “Hello, mommies!” she said excitedly, her sparkling pearl-like teeth shining in her camera’s light. “I’ve been reading all of your online journal entries and am so proud of the progress you made during the Fitness Challenge! Brava to each and every one of you! Now, who’s ready to get crafty?”

  I sat at the kitchen table staring at my computer and bouncing Aubrey in my lap, trying to look enthusiastic. I don’t exactly have the best history with crafts. Joy tried to get me on the DIY bandwagon but quickly gave up when she realized I didn’t know my macramé from my marzipan.

  Emily leaned into the camera. “Having a hobby is so important when you’re a busy mama. It gives you something to do that’s just for you, nobody else. Right now I’m working on a needlepoint of my entire family.” Emily held up a thick three by three white sheet showing a half-completed—but clearly expert—embroidery of her family of seven.

  “Oh, my freaking—” I stopped myself before I cursed aloud.

  The other moms oohed and aahed.

  “This week, the challenge is to flex your crafting muscles. I want you to dig deep and get those creative juices flowing. Does anyone have a project they’re currently working on?”

  Josie from Iowa raised her hand. She was a stocky woman who wore lots of flannel. I recognized her from her journal entry photos. As down to earth as she seemed, I’d hate to cross her, as I was sure she could break a grown man in half.

  Josie cleared her throat. “I’m building my kids a playhouse out of reclaimed wood from the lumberyard. I’m laying the concrete foundation later today.”

  Emily’s face froze. “Wow, well, that’s certainly a...craft, I suppose. Anyone else?”

  Kim from LA raised a finger before speaking. “I’m having my nanny make a quilt out of Connor’s old onesies. She’s really good at those things.”

  Emily blinked. “That’s wonderful, Kim, but the challenge is to make something by yourself.”

  Kim’s mouth hung open. “I made Connor.”

  Emily paused before continuing. “If you’re stuck and need craft ideas, check the message board. I put a few links up to some of my more popular crafts including the papier-mâché mold of your child’s hand that everybody loved a few months ago.”

  The ladies oohed and aahed.

  I didn’t manage to get in any face time with Emily during the call so I knew I’d have to knock it out of the park this week. If I couldn’t get her attention, I had no chance of winning the competition.

  After the call was over, I put Aubrey in her stroller for a walk to give myself time to think.

  As we sauntered down the sidewalk, I made a resolution.

  I decided to not only learn to craft but to learn to LOVE to craft. I always pictured myself as the kind of mom who made every sweater, spent the afternoons dipping candles and was always up to some adorable project.

  So what if I almost burned the house down two years ago trying melt crayons onto canvas with a blow-dryer (RIP blow-dryer)?

  Fact: Blow-dryers cannot be propped up for several minutes using a stack of paper plates while on full blast.

  I’ve learned that crafting is a great bonding activity with children. I can’t open Facebook without seeing what my high school friend turned perfect mom Penny McConnel is crafting. Today her status was, “Found a vintage olive oil bottle at the recycling center. Turned it into a fun lotion dispenser.” The photo looked like something out of the Anthropologie catalog. I bet her four daughters (yes, four daughters) all wore matching aprons and made their own mini homemade coconut-oil lotion and lotion infused with freshly picked lavender. I want that for me and Aubrey.

  I noticed that Aubrey had fallen asleep so I parked the stroller at one of the patio seats outside the café. I pulled out my phone and spent a few minutes scrolling through Pinterest, and even though I hated the website from the bottom of my soul, Ashley the Perfect-ish Mom was going to learn to tolerate it. I’d feel differently once I had a few successfully pulled-off crafts under my belt.

  To really impress Emily Walker, I was going to choose three crafts to master over the next few days.

  Potential crafts:

  DIY watercolor coffee mugs (Yes, they sell beautiful mugs at the store, but why would you want to buy one for $3 when you can spend $20 in supplies to make one that will stain your cuticles?)

  DIY stain remover (All you need is a little borax, vinegar and salt, and you no longer need to be dependent on drugstore laundry products. As a bonus, you get free chemical burns.)

  No-bake cake batter truffles (These would be wonderful for holiday gifts or eating in the kitchen in the dark.)

  DIY mason jar etching (These are gorgeous! I could already see them filled with wildflowers and decorating my home.)

  DIY ruffled baby romper out of a pillowcase (For Aubrey. I should really just sew all of her clothes.)

  I put a shopping list together and just had to go get the supplies.

  Who’s a slacker? NOT ME!

  3 P.M.

  A Crafting Essentials starter list can be found on my website. The 67 items listed will get you started on your crafting journey. You’ll find they are more than affordable and add up to only around $600. My children and I begin a new craft every morning at 7 a.m. on the dot. We begin by changing into our matching aprons on which I hand-embroidered our initials. We enjoy crafting by the light of the sun on a project table made from reclaimed lumber that I sanded and stained myself over a lazy weekend.

  —Emily Walker, Motherhood Better

  I decided to wait until Aubrey woke up from her nap to start crafting. Yes, she’s just a baby, but I was sure Laura Ingalls Wilder’s mother passed down all of her canning and quilting skills to her at a young age. I felt like it was important for Aubrey to grow up in a homemade environment and see me take charge of the home or something.

  To get into the mood, we even wore matching aprons, just like the ones Emily and her kids wear. Unlike Emily, though, I didn’t make them; they sell them at Michelle’s, the home base for all crafters. It’s a huge chain. I’d never been in there before today, and after I’d spent a house payment on supplies I was still confused by the prices. Was everything supposed to be that expensive? I actually had to double-check the currency with an employee. “I’m sorry, but what money is this in? Turkish lira? Pesos?” Maybe everything was blessed, like kosher food but by Martha Stewart.

  Wasn’t the whole point of making things to save money? I was pretty sure Laura Ingalls Wilder wouldn’t have stepped foot in a Michelle’s.

  Michelle’s lures you in with the promise of a better life and then empties your checking account. It’s like one of those fraudulent emails from an overseas “prince” promising you an inheritance you don’t deserve. Michelle’s has the same business model as movie theaters: offer you a good time, and once you’re trapped inside charge $12 for a small popcorn—or, in Michelle’s case, $200 for an old-timey popcorn maker. I almost bought it, too. That is, until I pictured David’s face when I told him that I spent a car insurance payment on the promise of buttery snacks.

  There was an entire aisle just for glue. GLUE. And one for cake stands. Since when did people get too good to eat cake out of the pan it was baked in? I bought one anyway. I’ve decided I’m going to make Aubrey’s birthday cakes every year. I also picked up some piping bags, a book about cake decorating and some fondant for snacking while I learn. Unfortunately, they didn’t sell baking skills, but I have a couple months to learn.

  I’ve already completed my first craft! After we returned from giving all of our money to the craft store, I placed Aubrey in her high chair and got to hobbying! The first craft up was the DIY watercolor mugs.

  Outcome: Moderately successful.

  The instructions said to fill a plastic bowl with water and gently dump in whatever colors of nail polish you’d
like. Then you’re supposed to swirl around the colors with a toothpick until they’re “dreamy looking.” Technically, I did this correctly because last time I checked, nightmares are considered dreams. Maybe I shouldn’t have purchased so many blacks and blues.

  After that, you carefully dip your white mugs that cost $6 each at Michelle’s in the water, creating beautiful designs. I bought eight so that I could give them as gifts to the family.

  You should see Joy’s Pinterest profile. She has more than thirty pages and half of them are crafts she invented. I know I can’t outdo her, but at least I can prove I’m not completely useless.

  Back to the crafting. Maybe it was the colors I chose, but my mugs look less “a starry night” and more “acute skin damage.” They look like they’re emo. I’m going to call them Mood Mugs Inspired by Xanax and hope they’re not interpreted as a cry for help.

  Other than that, totally nailed it.

  Next I was going to try my hand at the DIY stain remover that’s supposedly a staple in Emily Walker’s laundry room, but Aubrey was getting fussy. I threw a handful of fruit puffs down on her high chair. She inhaled them. Like mother, like daughter. I decided we needed a break and picked her up for a little bit of play (and reality television) in the living room. Before leaving the kitchen, I looked back at the colossal mess I’d created. For a lot less money, time and effort, I could have purchased eight mugs that didn’t look like they’d been in a fight. As hard as I tried, I just didn’t get the point of crafting. Maybe I just had to give it some time.

  After that, I put Aubrey down for her nap and felt the familiar fatigue and boredom of late afternoon setting in. I wondered what David was up to.

  The phone rang three times before he answered it.

  “Hi, Ashley.” He sounded stressed.

  “Hi, David, how’s work?” I yawned, exhausted.

  “It’s busy. What’s up?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just wanted to say hi. I hit up the craft store this morning and—”

  “Is that where you spent $300? I just saw it come out of the bank account.”

  Well wasn’t he Mister On Top of the Finances.

  “Yes. But David, I’m learning that it’s very important for me to flex my creative muscles. Crafting is my outlet.”

  “Well, it’s also a bit of a drain. Just don’t go crazy. Things might get tight soon.”

  My ears perked up. “What? Why?”

  “We were just underbid on two accounts I was counting on. It’s a lot rougher out here than I thought.”

  I tried to think of some words of encouragement for my brave entrepreneur husband. “I know you can do this. You’re smart.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, babe. I’m trying.” He sighed softly. “I’d better let you go.”

  “Okay. What time are you coming home tonight?”

  “After dinner. Sorry.”

  I felt a tug in the pit of my stomach.

  “That’s okay. Do what you have to do.”

  I hung up the phone and collapsed onto the couch. Even though I’d only intended to rest my eyes for a few minutes, I found myself waking up two hours later to Aubrey whining loudly.

  I checked my phone. It was 4:45. Time for the second shift. Motherhood had a way of making one day feel like two. Or three.

  I was just picking Aubrey up out of her bed when the doorbell rang.

  “Did I order a package?” I thought to myself as I galloped downstairs with a sleepy Aubrey on my hip. David wasn’t going to love that.

  I could see the cheetah print through the glass window on the door and knew who it was before I even opened the door.

  “Hi, Gloria!” I said, puzzled. “What are you, um...what are you doing here?”

  Gloria walked past me and into the house. She was wearing a cheetah-print tracksuit. “I called David and found out he’ll be working late again today. I knew you might be too shy to call me, so I figured I’d come over and help out.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say but “can you leave?” didn’t feel appropriate. It’s not that I minded the company, it’s just that I was looking forward to relaxing in various stages of undress for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

  Gloria set her purse down on an end table and made her way into the kitchen. I followed her. It wasn’t until I heard her gasp that I remembered the mug mess.

  “What happened here?” she asked, her hand over her cheek as she stared at my crafty watercolor tornado.

  I handed Aubrey to her. “Oh, I was just getting creative.” I rushed over to the sink and started cleaning up.

  I was happy I’d put the mugs in the oven to dry. I didn’t want her to see her gift before I could present it to her.

  “Well, you’re certainly getting into it. Is this for the motherhood program you’re in?”

  David must have told her. I dumped a large plastic bowl of nail polish-colored water down the sink.

  “Yes. It’s going really well,” I said convincingly.

  Gloria sat at the kitchen table with Aubrey. “You young moms. Always up to one thing or another. Is this the book?”

  Gloria picked up my copy of Motherhood Better from the kitchen table and, before I could stop her, opened it.

  She put on her glasses and began reading. “Forget juice or soda, give your child kombucha.” She looked up at me. “What’s kombucha? Is that some kind of vaccine? Witchcraft?”

  I tried to take the book away but she playfully held it away from me. “It’s a type of fermented tea...” I said.

  Gloria’s eyes grew wide. “Rotten tea! What’s wrong with milk these days?” She flipped a few pages and continued reading. “Enjoy my recipe for gluten-free beet muffins with a date-coconut oil glaze.”

  Gloria lowered the book. “Are you allergic to gluten?” I shook my head. “Is this Emily person allergic to gluten?” I shook my head. “Then why the hell are you avoiding it? When I was a kid we were afraid of the hydrogen bomb. Your generation is afraid of gluten.” Gloria handed me the book.

  “Yes, some of the ideas are a bit radical, but Emily’s actually quite amazing.”

  “Amazing at what? Getting moms to buy books full of half-baked ideas? Oh, I’m sorry, half-baked, gluten-free ideas with a coconut-date glaze?”

  Even I had to laugh. Gloria couldn’t understand. She was from a different time.

  “That reminds me.” Gloria stood up and handed Aubrey to me. “I have groceries in the car.”

  “Groceries?” I asked, confused, following her to the front door.

  “Yes, groceries.”

  Gloria slipped out the front door and returned carrying two bags full of food.

  I followed her into the kitchen.

  She began pulling out ingredients. A large bag of shredded cheese. Two huge bags of corn chips. Canned corn. Sour cream. Salsa.

  “What’s all this?” I asked, watching more items come out.

  Gloria stopped and looked me dead in the eye. “I’m going to teach you how to cook—starting with my signature recipe, Frito Pie.”

  Frito Pie. I knew the name because David had asked me hundreds of times to make the dish that featured the popular gas station snack, but I’d refused.

  “It’s David’s favorite and an easy weeknight recipe. Your Emily Walker friend probably wouldn’t approve, but it’s a big hit at parties,” Gloria said, searching for a casserole dish in the cupboard.

  “What’s that smell?” she asked, as she closed in on the section under the sink where my ill-fated potato farm had once grown.

  “A plumbing problem,” I said, handing her a casserole dish from the top shelf.

  Gloria preheated the oven to 350 and began mixing cheese, chips, and globs of cream cheese. Within fifteen minutes it was ready to go into the oven.

  “That w
as fast,” I had to admit.

  “What’s that smell?” Gloria asked again, sniffing the air.

  “It’s just the plumbing,” I lied again, hoping she’d finally drop it.

  “No, it’s something else. Something’s burning.”

  As soon as she said that, I began smelling it, too. It was coming from...oh, no, the oven. I’d forgotten that my mugs were drying on the brand-new plastic platter I’d purchased earlier.

  I practically threw Aubrey at Gloria and opened the oven. A cloud of toxic black smoke billowed out. Gobs of hot melted plastic were melting from the top rack onto the oven floor. It was a disaster.

  “What IS that?” Gloria asked, backing out of the room with Aubrey. “Did you try to bake?”

  I opened the back door and all of the windows, but not before the smoke alarm went off.

  “It’s a craft. I crafted,” I shrieked.

  Gloria played in the living room with Aubrey while I fanned under the smoke detector. I then poured cold water all over what looked like a radioactive mess in the oven. Thirty minutes later I was still chipping burnt plastic out of the oven with a knife. The mugs themselves weren’t too damaged. Once I pried the burnt plastic off, they looked almost post-modern. I decided not to give them as gifts but to definitely keep them. They were artistic and smelled of the struggle.

  Gloria walked into the kitchen.

  “I put the casserole in the fridge,” I said. “I’ll make it when I finally get this clean. Sometime next week, I anticipate.”

  Gloria laughed. “Don’t worry. I ordered pizza. You know, you really shouldn’t use your oven as a cabinet. Even if you don’t use it often.”

  I cringed.

  I heard the front door open.

  “Anybody home?” called David cheerfully.

  He rounded the corner into the kitchen, and upon seeing his face Aubrey screamed happily. He kissed her on the cheek before hugging his mom. Last, but not least, he gave me a quick peck.