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A Homespun Christmas
Homemade Wreaths and Other Parental Nightmares
By Lisa Smartt
I'm allergic to glue guns. I'm serious. I break out in hives when I even think about glue guns and the misery they inflict on decent, law-abiding citizens. My feelings are all related to a trauma from the past. You know what I mean. Remember when you ate that questionable seafood platter on your honeymoon and ended up in the emergency room? And now every time someone says, "crab cakes with a side of coleslaw," you get the chills. Yeah. That's the way I feel about glue guns. It all started a few years ago during a holiday season much like this one. Grab a cup of coffee and I'll share the sordid tale.
My sons were 2 and 4 years old at the time. I needed therapy. No. No particular reason. Looking back, I realize every mom of a 2-year-old and a 4-year-old needs therapy. Instead, I decided to throw myself into creating a "Homespun Christmas." I didn't think of that on my own. I got the phrase from some woman's magazine. "Homespun Christmas." Doesn't that sound downright delightful? The magazine convinced me that what my family desperately needed was a return to the "simpler days" of holidays past. Homemade wrapping paper. Pinecone ornaments. Handmade gifts. Stunning wreaths made of grapevine and berries. Hot cider made from fermented apples. Friendship bread from a "bread starter." (If you don't know what a "bread starter" is, count your blessings. It's a smelly, guilt-ridden, never-ending science experiment that lives in your refrigerator and calls your name late at night saying, "Feed me. Feed me." Trust me. You don't want any part of this mafia-like experience. If a friend offers you a "bread starter," run for the door and change your phone number. You're welcome.)