I hate the Martha Stewart image of it but I have faced being craftsy. I'm not artsy, more likely due to lack of talent than desire, but I am craftsy. Yes, I'm the mom who helped Kat decorate her binders with leopard strips. Yes, I'm the mom who made the team t-shirts for Battle of the Books for Day-Hay. I watch the crafts contest between Mary and The Queen and know they are both mere amateurs. Being craftsy, however, does not thoroughly prepare me for the true fate of the craftsy mom: having a craftsy child.

At first blush, having a craftsy child seems a major blessing. Finally, there is someonewith similar urges. Finally, there is someone who understands the joys of fabric paint. Finally, there is someone who understands the power in a glue gun. Finally, there is someone who appreciates what I have done and why I have done it.

So what's not to like? Well, sometimes my projects frustrate me, but at least they are my projects. Sometimes I burn myself on the glue gun, but at least I'm fulfilling my vision with that glue gun. Sometimes I make a big mess, but at least it's my mess. With a craftsy child, one can get frustrated, burn one's self, and make a mess for someone else's vision.

The reach of all true crafters exceeds their grasp. We can't help ourselves. As adults, however, we either abandon the project or struggle through it alone. But child crafters still believe that Mommy can (and should) fix it. They believe that Mommy should be there when the going gets rough to guide and to aide---and she usually is.

When Day-Hay was smaller, the projects that exceeded her powers were not much of an issue. It's not that they didn't exist, it's just that they were well within my powers most of the time. As Day-Hay is growing, her visions are matching or exceeding mine and her powers are not far behind. (I'm still a bit better with a glue gun but I'm also less afraid of a small burn or two.) Her engineering abilities occasionally surpass mine. Now when she wants me to fix it, I am faced with dropping everything and concentrating really, really, really hard or admitting defeat. Sometimes I'm faced with admitting defeat no matter what. I hate to admit defeat so I find myself spending more and more time with someone else's crafts.

Still, taking both the good and the bad of it, I'm willing to curse her with my grandmother's curse: May she grow up and have a child like her.

|