I used to be that mom who helped her kid make homemade cards and baked snazzy treats for classroom Valentine’s Day parties. But now I’m the mom who says screw it, springs for two boxes of store-bought cards with Spiderman tattoos, and figures that will probably make the kids happier anyway.
I no longer live in a Pinterest world. This is my liberation.
Once, while my two-year-old daughter napped, I made three dozen “spiders” with Ritz cracker bodies, peanut butter bellies and pretzel stick legs for a moms-club Halloween party. As snazzy snacks go, these were the snazziest. They were pure Pinterest fabulosity.
And let me tell you this: those moms were thoroughly impressed, for ten, maybe eleven, seconds. Then they moved on to the next treat on the snack table: caramel apples with sprinkles, prepped and wrapped by the bakery down the street, then purchase by a mom who had already learned the value of her time and sanity.
Just this past Christmas, I attempted another Pinterest fiasco, this time in the form of jumbo marshmallows melted ever-so-slightly in a warm oven, then formed into snowman lollipops. The first batch stuck to the pan. The second batch stuck to the parchment paper I put down to protect the pan. The third batch, mmm, the third batch stuck to our fingers as my daughter and I ate our failures. Life is too short for Pinterest perfection.
I don’t remember what we made, if anything, in place of those snowman lollipops. What I do remember is the story about a Viking and his tiny, troublesome dragon, which my daughter and I read under the covers right before bedtime. I remember the difference between sedimentary and igneous rock, which she explained to me as I helped her study for next Tuesday’s science test. And I remember the slow rise and fall of her belly as she fell asleep, my right arm wrapped around her warm body.
Beat that, Pinterest.