ScrapHappy

A Contest!

I recently completed an article for Simple that made me start a mental list of all the things my children will never ask me about my scrapbooking. For example, they will never ask the following:

-Why didn't you wait until you lost five pounds before you let yourself be photographed, Mom?
-This photo would have looked a lot better if you had matted it in Bazzill Carmine instead of Scarlet.
-Did you know that one end of that ribbon is frayed?
-I wish you hadn't written so many stories about us!

Here's your chance... send me your best "What the kids will never ask" question by Wednesday, 12/27. I'll choose my favorite two and send them some goodies. Have fun!

A Very Scrappy Christmas

It started out so simply. After last year's debacle involving trying to stamp with pigment ink on vellum (note: It doesn't work), and after spending almost $2 a card when I added up all the materials, I swore never to make my own Christmas cards again.

That resolution lasted all of 11 months.

This year, I promised myself, I'd handle the whole thing differently. No vellum. No hand-tied ribbons. No hand-cut cardstock. Yes, I would do my own cards (how could I not? I'm a scrapbooker!). But I'd cut my list in half to 75 instead of 150. And I'd do a SIMPLE card.

Ha.

Sure, it started out that way. I got a box of pre-fab cards from DCWV for a bargain price of $7.

I decided I'd have my resident artist draw a picture for the front, that I would then color-copy and adhere to the front of the card. I'd stamp a greeting, and VOILA! I'd be done.

Everything proceeded smoothly... for about five minutes. Not to point fingers or anything, but the resident artist did NOT follow the approved instructions and submitted not one but two separate drawings. And they were so cute that there was no way I could use only one.

And then I got a bad case of Scrapper's Brain. You know how it goes. Wouldn't this look cute if I mounted it on some holiday-themed patterned paper? your Scrapper's Brain says, and you agree. And so you buy a few (hundred) sheets of Christmas paper. Wouldn't this look even cuter if I matted it on white cardstock to make it stand out more? your Scrapper's Brain continues. And so you start cutting and matting. But wait! your Scrapper's Brain interrupts. Just think how great it would look if you distressed the edges of the white cardstock with some red paint! And distress you do. After all, you are no longer in control. Your Scrapper's Brain has taken over.

That wasn't so bad, you say finally, with a sigh. No problem.

But your Scrapper's Brain isn't finished with you yet.

Your Scrapper's Brain wants you to add the tiny metal Making Memories Christmas bulb embellishments you bought last year on clearance.

Your Scrapper's Brain wants you to thread 1/8 inch ribbon through each of these bulbs before you glue them on.

Your Scrapper's Brain also wants you to add another 20 people to your Christmas card list, forcing you to return to the craft store and buy yet another box of DCWV cards.

Your Scrapper's Brain also wants you to write a cheery, clever Christmas missive (oh, wait -- that wasn't your Scrapper's Brain -- that was your Writer's Brain. I sometimes get them confused).

Your Scrapper's Brain, of course, goes silent after forcing you to hand-address all the cards and design the festive return address labels. Your Scrapper's Brain was nowhere to be found when you had to stand in line for 37 minutes at the post office, only to find that the only stamps left were either Domestic Violence or Superheroes, neither of which seemed particularly holiday-ish.

Your Scrapper's Brain has disappeared.

Until next year.

Bitter

I've been neglectful, and I apologize. Ever since Thanksgiving, I've been feeling a bit bitter. Why? you ask (you are so nice to ask!). Well, I'll tell you. Here's why:

To the uninformed eye, this just looks like a pile of cute little turkeys, perhaps something a young child made in an elementary school art class.

But to the informed (i.e., scrapper's) eye, this is much, much more.

Much more.

This is a pile representing hours of work.

It wasn't enough that I had to get up at the crack of dawn to stuff the turkey (actually, I talked my son into stuffing it, telling him it was good practice for his future as an obstetrician. What's an obstetrician, Mom? he asked. Don't ask so many questions, I answered).

It wasn't enough that half of the invited guests had not yet RSVPd so I didn't know if I would have 12 people for dinner or 22.

It wasn't enough that my son (yes, the future obstetrician) begged me to make pumpkin pie and I hate pumpkin pie.

No, I had to take it upon myself to create a little Thanksgiving craft project for my girls to do while I was cooking, based on an adorable turkey placecard I saw in Cards magazine. So I took time out from the stirring and chopping and burning and charring, and I punched out cardstock circles, cut ribbon, and created noses and hats and the like. Then I sat the girls down with glue sticks at approximately 2:00 and told them to have at it.

At 2:02, my 6-year-old asked, Do we have to do this, Mom?

Of course not, I answered, only if you want to eat dessert tonight.

At 2:04, my 2-year-old ate her glue stick and asked for more. No, I answered. You will spoil your dinner.

At 2:07 both girls abandoned the task and went off to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving for the 52nd time.

At 2:08 I grabbed the uneaten glue stick and completed the final turkeys. Since I was not sure how many people were actually coming, I erred on the side of caution and family harmony and made one for even those who might, but probably wouldn't, come. Of course, I ran out of materials and chose to forego my own turkey in order to make one for my brother's stepdaughter, who lives in San Diego, but might decide at the last minute to attend.

At 3 pm, guests arrived. What are these? they asked, fingering the ribbon-bedecked turkeys.

Oh, just a little something the girls and I whipped up, I answered modestly.

Hunh, they all said. Where's the pumpkin pie?

Two hours later, everyone left. Leaving their adorable turkeys behind, I might add. Now I'm stuck with 20 turkeys. And there isn't even one with my name on it.

And you ask why I'm bitter...