I am on the Pinterest. See?
It’s a hilarious indulgence. Mostly because, all of this crap I’ve pinned? I never do. Ever.
Pinterest is where I go to pretend that I have things like motivation and knowledge of where any of the craft supplies in this house actually are. The fact is, all of my photo-shoot mom moments get used up by Christmas. And by that I mean that we bake cookies and use whatever not-dried-out markers we can find to color some cardboard ornaments I bought for $1 from the Target Crack Bins. The ornaments have cellophane-covered cutouts in the middle, where it’s the mom’s job to insert carefully selected and cut-to-fit photos. I told my kids that they’re meant to look like windows. This is the height of my holiday creativity.
See here? This is where I pinned all of the things I did not do for Halloween.
Here’s all the cool suggestions I ignored the shit out of for Thanksgiving.
Valentine’s Day. 0/11. I didn’t even do the one that’s literally nothing more than crumpled paper inside a container. At any given time we’re drowning in fouled up scraps of paper, but if I can’t make those go inside the trash bin on a regular basis, it’s beyond me to know why I ever thought I could make them go inside a glass container on purpose. Want to know what happened at my house for Valentine’s Day? I got two tin mailboxes from the Target Crack Bins and put inside of each a piece of chocolate, a pair of socks and a balloon. When my kids got to the socks, they lost their fucking minds: “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, we got matchers!”
This is the special name we have for socks that match. They have a special name because they happen with about the same regularity, and are regarded with the same awe, as a solar eclipse. Isabel and Aidan thought it was the greatest Valentine’s Day ever. Aidan wore his socks for four days in a row, no lie. I practically had to cut them off of him with a hacksaw. He was like, “But, but… they’re my matchers!”
Matching socks. This is the reality of the bar I’ve set for lesser holidays, no matter what my Pinterest boards may tell you.
And now, St. Patrick’s Day. I have a board for St. Patrick’s Day. It has one thing on it. I pinned it last year and – surprise! – never did it. But today, when I wandered onto Pinterest and started looking around for St. Patrick’s ideas, I suddenly realized: I am a Pinterest Hypocrite. I am NEVER going to do any of these things. I mean, seriously, with the little green footprints all over the house? Why would I want to do that? You know who has to clean that up, right?
Then there’s the dying green of all the things. One pre-Pinterest year, before I knew about food dye and ADHD and ass cancer, I tried this with macaroni and cheese. This is the reaction I got:
So, nope. Not trying that again.
And all those lists of leprechaun ideas? No, no, no. Never in a million years will I willingly bring any those ideas into my house. I know this to be true because when it comes to St. Patrick’s Day, Nick is the living embodiment of a seasonal Pinterest board, a bona fide St. Patrick’s Day savant. And let me tell you, I don’t care how much you love your boards, when hard-core Pinterest-worthy shit sets up residence in your house, it’s a whole different story.
His is a dark gift with no logical basis, seeing as how he’s French Canadian and Italian and should therefore be expected to pass his free time eating meat pies and watching The Sopranos. But instead, he spends the first half of March planning for St. Patrick’s Day with an outrageous fervor that would bring shame to every last crafty Pinterest mom. Leprechaun traps come with schematics and a subscription to Instructables and power tools and 10-pound plates, I swear to God it’s true.
Then there’s the leprechaun mischief. Sweet Jesus. Three years ago the kids and I went downstairs on St. Patrick’s morning to find that not only had the leprechauns strewn toilet paper about the house, they had gotten into the kitchen and stolen all of the dishes. ALL OF THEM. Our cupboards were instead filled with stuffed animals. Oh, those leprechauns. The children were enchanted. Wouldn’t that be fun on Pinterest?
So I sent the silly leprechauns, who had apparently not realized the necessity of feeding small humans, an email. It went like this:
“WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY DISHES???”
Two years ago on St. Patrick’s Day, I was awakened by what sounded like rain, but louder, like maybe small ponies were dropping out of the sky and splattering across my first floor. When I got downstairs, it turned out that the leprechauns had returned and hung our many many books from the ceiling with fishing twine. Where they grew heavier and heavier, until they started dropping off of the ceiling in order to bludgeon to death anyone unfortunate enough to, say, live there.
Last year, the night before St. Patrick’s Day, I overheard the following exchange as Nick and Isabel were setting up one of four elaborate traps:
Nick: And we’ll know where they came from because we’ll follow their footprints.
Isabel: Where will the footprint trap be?
Nick: All over the dining room floor.
I had a Pinterest account by then, where I had pinned a St. Patrick’s day fruit rainbow that I never made, and I thought, Oh, here we go, with the green footprints. I couldn’t figure out how he fixed to make the leprechauns’ feet green and feared for a minefield of ink pads, so I asked, naively, “How are you going to capture their footprints?”
Nick: Oh, flour.
Isabel: Yep, flour! We bought a whole bag!
Of course! Flour! All over the dining room floor! To capture leprechaun footprints! Put that in your pipe (or on your Pinterest board) and smoke it.
There is magic, and there is insanity, and I will tell you that every year on St. Patrick’s Day, I live insanity.
So as you pin your St. Patrick’s Day ideas, think a kind thought for me. And remember that there is no shame in sitting on the Pinterest Hypocrisy bench, but there is possibly a lot of sweeping.
How about you? Do you do the stuff you pin on Pinterest or are you a Pinterest Hypocrite, too?