I have a confession.

I don’t like to sew or do anything crafty. I burn most things I bake, and since I’m already making a dent with this list, I’ll go ahead and tell you that I’m not really a fan of any board games. Whew! I feel better already. Are you still with me? Let me explain.

Mom signed me up for 4-H sewing classes back in the ’80s and early ’90s. I did it, of course, because that’s what farm girls do. Patterns and numbers and fabric bored me to the core. I pulled out more thread than I sewed. I did receive plenty of blue ribbons for my work and it always looked decent. That’s what happens when your mom is a master seamstress.

For our college graduations, Mom bought each of my three older sisters sewing machines. I politely asked if I could have something else.

I got a camera instead. It was a much better choice.

I can sew on a button, hem your pants and, if necessary, patch a hole in your jeans, too. But I won’t. I would rather buy new than iron on a piece of sticky denim.

Ironing. That’s another thing to add to the “I don’t like” list.

Recent events in the Means’ household left me feeling a little blue about my lack of domestic skills. My 6-year-old has a favorite stuffed animal named Leo. It was a gift from her grammy. She carries Leo with her everywhere and it shows. His fur was less than fluffy and a little smelly, too. When her grammy offered to fix him up (which involved ripping out a seam and adding new stuffing), my daughter was thrilled.

Three days later, Leo arrived in the mail. He smelled and looked like a brand new snow leopard and I had a very happy 6-year-old in my home. I think Leo was smiling brighter, too.

A few weeks later my 4-year-old came home with a sock snowman she made in pre-school. He came complete with ribbons and glued on googly eyes. But when his eye fell off, she panicked.

“Mom! His eye fell off. Do you have the right kind of glue to stick it back on? Can you call my teacher and find out what to use? Should we just put him in the mail so she can do it?”

We’re talking about glue, folks. Glue. And a googly eye. My 4-year-old thinks her mama can’t even glue on an eye.

It was a low point.

Here’s what I could do. I could pretend to enjoy those things. I could get my girls interested in sewing and glitter crafts and all things domestic. Isn’t that what moms of little girls are supposed to do?

You know I won’t.

Instead I’ll stay on the sidelines. I’ll continue to be their biggest cheerleader. I’ll encourage them to explore all kinds of adventures; from sewing to music to 4-H and sports and I’ll love them for all they are and all they aren’t.

And when the time comes for more domestic adventures, I’ll simply send them off to their grammy and grandma’s houses.

The saying is true. Thank goodness for grandmothers. And so they aren’t left out, I’m pretty fond of papa and grandpa, too. They eat the cookies that their daughters make, burned and all.