In my effort to expand my social network, I recently attended my first MOPS meeting. MOPS stands for Mothers of Preschoolers, a slight misnomer since it includes mothers of children ages 0-5, as well as expectant moms like me. While I was excited to meet other moms and moms-to-be, I have to admit that I was a little concerned about this kickoff meeting. The email reminder had mentioned we would be decorating nametags to go along with the theme for the year. This sounded crafty to me, and I don’t do crafts.
However I am determined that my daughter will not be raised a reclusive loner, and so for the sake of her future socialization, I put my doubts aside and showed up. Surely I could decorate a name tag to secure my daughter some future play dates, right? I was met by a group of lovely and gracious women – who in addition to being lovely and gracious also provided cookies. So far, so good.
It was not long into the session that we were given a schedule for the year. My worst fears were confirmed: Crafts are indeed a central focus of this group. In fact, every other meeting revolves around a craft project. That’s a lot of art for this girl.
This is my future.
I tried to cover my panic with a placid smile, but beads of sweat began pooling on my forehead, my heart began pounding against my chest, and I felt the sudden urge to flee. But I was too gripped by terror to move! I have nothing against arts & crafts or the people who partake in such things, but I myself possess absolutely zero artistic ability. The thought of being subjected to art projects on a monthly basis and thus exposing my embarrassing lack of skill to a group of artistically-able women makes me feel extremely vulnerable.
It’s my parents’ fault, really. You see, rather than provide support and encouragement for my childhood artistic endeavors, they favored mockery and ridicule. Before you think my parents are cruel, pitiless monsters, it’s okay – really! Did I grow up with ambitions in things I had no talent for? Nope. Did I pursue futile dreams in the arts? Not a chance. Rather, I accepted my inadequacies at a young age and focused my energies in the other, plentiful areas in which I excelled. Besides, the ‘rents waited until I was out of the early elementary years to begin taunting my creative abilities (or lack thereof), so the scars aren’t too deep.
But scars there are, and now whenever I’m faced with the prospect of a craft project, I go to a dark place. The teasing and taunts of my parents still linger in my head. In fact, the teasing and taunts go on to this day! For artistic blunders of years past!
For example, in elementary school I took pottery classes. I loved these pottery classes. But after two years, my mother made me quit claiming we were “too busy”. (Because fifth graders do have such demanding schedules). I now realize she didn’t want to finance a hobby that resulted in me bringing home LPC (Little Pieces of Crap) on a weekly basis that only served to defile her holiday décor. For those early childhood years, my parents feigned pride in my accomplishments, displaying those clay creations in prominent positions throughout the house. But as soon as they felt I was old enough to handle the truth, the mocking began. And hasn’t stopped since.
Case in point: As recently as last November, my father began emailing me on a daily basis a picture of one of my formerly prized pottery pieces – a Thanksgiving turkey – in various locales throughout the house. What had been an innocent craft creature suddenly took on a sinister, demonic quality.
Traveling Turkey
Honky-Tonk Turkey
Creepy Turkey Stalking You!
Then there was the Jacob and the Technicolor Coat incident. In junior high, I assisted my parents in teaching a kindergarten Sunday School class. One Sunday, it was my responsibility to make a mock-up of the craft for the day: Jacob’s coat. Somehow, ripping apart colored construction paper and pasting it onto a pre-cut coat was beyond my grasp; I inexplicably created the most hideous crafted coat you can imagine. That coat still provides my family endless dinnertime fodder, and will for years to come.
I don't have a photo of the coat, as it was promptly trashed. So here is another pottery piece. I think it's a fish, though I can't be sure. Whatever it is, it deserves to be ridiculed.
High school provided more opportunities for scorn and derision. My junior year, I took AP Art History. (Interestingly, I ended up minoring in Art History in college. Those who can’t… study?) After completing the AP exam, we spent the remainder of the school year – you guessed it – crafting. Every day I approached 3rd period with dread. After completing our first project – an aluminum picture frame that required much more effort than appears – I brought it home and sheepishly showed my mom. She immediately put a picture in it and to this day it remains a fixture on her desk. The gesture sounds supportive, but no. I’m convinced the frame stands there as a constant source of passive-aggressive mockery; an ever-present reminder of all that I failed to be.
Perhaps this sheds some light on why a monthly meeting revolving around crafts strikes fear deep in my heart. Why can’t these meetings revolve around cocktails instead of crafts? That I could get behind.
But alas, crafts is the name of the game, and being desperate for companionship the loving mother-to-be I am, I will dutifully attend these craft sessions and reveal my artistic weaknesses if I must. These ladies won’t be the harsh judges that my parents are, right? Maybe belonging to a supportive group of ladies will cure me of my insecurities! (At a much cheaper rate than a therapist, no less). I could become a decoupage connoisseur, a scrapbooking specialist! The possibilities are endless!
At the first official meeting, we will be sewing pumpkins, presumably because it’s fall and that’s what you do in fall. The last time I wielded a needle and thread was… Honestly, I have no idea. (My mother is cringing right now). This has the potential to be dangerous, in addition to embarrassing. But I will swallow my pride and sew. Wish me luck.
You can do it! Crafting is amazing…and is one of my many hobbies (the other hobbies are: eating, watching TV, wearing sweatpants). If it’s ever your turn to come up with a craft idea, this is a very fun and easy one (and makes great Christmas gifts):
http://www.notmartha.org/tomake/marblemagnets/
Me and my friend Jill got together one night and made like 50 of them. I wish I could post a photo but you can’t in comments. Lame.
Yes, crafts can be a big part of MOPS. I believe the philosophy is that said MOPS lead such harried lives that they never can finish anything, but walking away from a meeting with a completed project in hand gives satisfaction. Who knows? Maybe you’ll really LIKE something you make, and maybe even your parents will admire it with honesty, too. At my first MOPS meeting, we had to glue little wooden mops onto our nametag–be thankful you were spared that!
We had to decorate our nametag based on our favorite childhood game. It was very stressful. I ended up cutting out words like “Crown” and “Shoes” and claiming my favorite game was Pretty Pretty Princess. At least I didn’t have to draw…
Oh, Diana, we should have taken AP Art History together; the month that followed the AP exam were by far the most challenging part of the class. My horrible aluminum picture frame didn’t even warrant the passive aggressive mockery to be retained. The only time my elementary school art project was selected to be “posted in the district office” (Do you remember that? We would have art with the art teacher like once a month and then she would pick a few to take with her to hang at IUSD office!) was some kind of cat cutout masterpiece that I crafted in first grade, with my left hand, because I had broken my right wrist. I’d like to believe the selection wasn’t PURELY based on pity, but who am I kidding?
Good luck with MOPS! Celebrate your lack of artistic ability with pride, and know that some other mom or mom-to-be will have a higher self esteem because she is seated beside you 🙂
Allison, this made me laugh. I love that your left-handed artwork was chosen. I don’t think I ever got selected for the district office! I would have totally taken a pity selection!
You will be sewing pumpkins, huh? Try not to hit the seeds with the needle. I’m telling you, if you want to meet women, lesbian bar (Tim Cook opined that your mother would be aghast at this suggestion–thus I told him to relay it to her through your dad). For the kid, have you considered those play dates in a city of artistic culture–no, not Baker, but Rome? Think of all the fine gypsy children your kid could meet and contribute to his/her college fund as well.
You wouldn’t be referring to Baker, CA, would you? I drove through Baker once on a return trip from Las Vegas, and it left quite an impression. My friend and I were struck by the abundance of classical “sculptures” we encountered scattered along the single road we drove on. That having been the only time I’ve experienced Baker, the cultural renaissance it seemed to be experiencing may have been atypical. However, at the time, we might as well have been in Rome (minus the gypsies).