Creatively Crafted Feelings

My five-year old came home from latch-key a few months ago with a simple drawing made with glue and glitter. I didn't feel proud, I felt jealous and sad.

With nostalgia I thought about my abundant craft supplies of yesteryear. The days when I made my holiday cards, wrapping paper and gifts.

Quickly banish the images of items on Etsy or by Martha Stewart. I received consistent complaints about my generous use of glitter and the mess it made for the recipients. I rarely saw the homemade gifts displayed. But, as I am sure they are, I am too, a big believer in re-gifting and a supporter of Goodwill.

In true holiday spirit, making those things wasn't just to annoy family and friends, it was about me. I loved making it all, even the mess. Right now I can still taste a bit of that deep pleasure and satisfaction. Sitting at my old dining room table with craft supplies spilling on to the wooden floors and my fingers peeling from decoupage and craft glue.

And with that, I revisit a familiar feeling of how my kids would have loved the younger me. My energy, creativity, ideas, enjoyment of cooking and baking things not out of a box, and the ability to function on less sleep.

Creating with my son when he was younger just frustrated me. He had the nerve to act his age and lose focus just at the moment I was getting excited about my project. Or, he would start “working” on mine and I became the child melting down because he “ruined” my project.

Now he sees potential craft supplies all over the house since I don’t remember to fill up his supply bin as nicely as mine once was. We have impromptu crafting sessions on the bedroom floor using the store bought wrapping paper supplies, old magazines, and anything in my hoarding collection.

For the holidays we bought him a giant bin filled with colorful paper, markers, crayons, stickers, glitter, glue sticks and paints. I knew he’d love the supplies and I’d love that in case of a cleaning emergency, everything had a place to go.

I knew that mostly I’d love the brief holiday-high leading to a release of long held guilt by finally buying him the things I think my younger self would have had on hand the day of his birth.

The crafts have been a huge success for both of us. Snowflakes, and valentines have been made and a lot in between.

As with the definition of true creativity, it can’t be hampered by the box of crafts. This morning he’d hung a new collage of craft projects, paintings, drawings, junk mail, and post cards from the recycling bin. Painted paper plates decorate the edges of his bookshelves. And it is all magnificent and his own.

Another benefit of not being contained by our craft container was when our holiday wreath was falling apart. I put a few quirky things together to make a new one. Proudly, I shared my work with him. He immediately took the wreath from me and went to work. He added his touches and it became a uniquely, finished product now hanging proudly on our front door.  

Here I am, many years older, less energetic, and finding a creative connection with my son and an outlet for myself. Current exhibits can be seen on the front door, windows, and all exposed surfaces in the house.

Don't Lose It Over Last Minute Shopping

Waited until the last minute to do your Christmas shopping? Lucky for you the Dysfunctional Bungalow has some ideas for you, like:

• dysfunctions-guided-journal or

• Gift certificates for therapy.

I encourage you to explore the kinds of therapy options that are available. I have known types of therapy where you beat bats into pillows, group therapy where "the group" guides your life, giving you advice on dating and career (yes this borders on a cult, but whatever works), therapy where you throw dishes and any other no-longer-needed-breakables. For easiest clean up, I suggest throwing directly into a dumpster. Yes, you get a certain reputation as the “crazy dumpster lady,” but who wants to spend the afternoon cleaning up that kind of mess at your own house?

Living in the country lends itself to screaming therapy; otherwise you will get the police at your door. I once shared a house where “the screamers” met one Saturday a month. I would wait until they were in deep waves of pain screams to sneak into the kitchen and grab some tasty snacks they brought.

Just remember times are tough. Give a gift that will offer some relief for the jobless, foreclosed upon, and the sick without healthcare.

It has gotten so bad these folks are winding up on my doorstep. Last night I pulled into our snowy driveway to find a little girl sledding down it. I was glad to see that our lack of shoveling benefits someone. I introduce myself and we started to get to know each other. She tells me her name is Elizabeth and that our next door neighbor is babysitting her while her foster mother is working. She assures me driveway/alley sledding is safe as long as you look out for cars. She also informs me this will be a horrible Christmas. Elizabeth isn’t interested in sharing the details, which I can appreciate. I simply offer her a stack of our old dishes and lead her to our silver aluminum trash can to help her work it out.

Real or Artificial - Either Way I'm Afraid

I fear Christmas trees. I realize it is like fearing lollipops, children’s birthday parties, frosted chocolate cupcakes, fuzzy bunny rabbits, or dishes of pudding. I am sure it is considered un-American, satanic, and the 73rd reason I will be going to hell. But to me Christmas trees are big and intimidating and overbearing and needy.


They start out naked and need lights and garland, and bows, and a tree topper, and popcorn, and sentimental ornaments you need to have some story about, ornaments that some kid made you with peeling glue and despite the fact it’s falling apart you love it more each year.

Everyone around me has these fabulously rich stories of growing up with Christmas, decorating the tree, rising early on Christmas morning to sparkling gifts magically placed under the tree, and I just can’t relate making me feel like a foreigner.

Recently, we got a tree and I have attempted to join in the magically delicious fun to decorate it and it never looks like the one’s I see in magazines. One year I imagined the tree as a person instead of a thing and hung vintage air fresheners with pictures of tantalizingly naked ladies on her. I gave her a tree skirt made of a fur stole. And I added some shiny, rhinestone costume jewelry to top it off. We had a party and I could tell from our guest’s reactions this is not how other people had decorated their trees in their homes and I would not be rewarded with gifts next to my furry tree skirt on Christmas morning.

Some of our friends had travelled to Spain during the Christmas season. They were so desperate for a tree they drove their rental car into a wooded area and illegally cut down a tree to take home. Very conspicuously they drove past suspicious eyes back to town with a freshly cut tree riding high in the back of their convertible.

I am uncomfortable with my very unpopular indifference toward trees when most people are willing to risk an unsavory encounter with the Spanish police for their passion for the Christmas tree.

Recipe for Comfort

Thanksgiving is my most beloved holiday. No religion claims it. No sending of cards, buying of gifts, decorating a house, dressing up in costume to participate. The only requirement is to be thankful for something or someone and to eat. Thanksgiving is full of many of my favorite foods from side dishes to pie.

My most memorable Thanksgivings have been times where we have travelled to a bed and breakfast out of town. I love how full the houses were of “odds and ends type family members” like my husband and I who don’t always fit into a family’s big picture. I felt comforted there, probably like you are supposed to feel on holidays. I was reassured knowing that even if I’m alone on a holiday I can find a bed and breakfast on the west side of Michigan or the southwest side of Ohio who will welcome me. They may have some sheep that listen to Christmas carols and eat buttered toast, or a Shepard-mutt who demands a belly-rub at the door.

I think holidays should be about finding comfort for ourselves however unconventional the recipe might be. I hope this Thanksgiving tastes delicious and you sit down and enjoy as much as you want.