Confessions of a Wreath Maker: The Things No One Warns You About

People imagine being a wreath maker is peaceful.

They picture soft music playing, birds chirping outside the window, a cup of coffee nearby, and me gracefully weaving flowers together while sunlight streams through the room like something out of a Hallmark movie.

That's sooooooo adorable.

The reality? It looks like a floral hurricane tore through Hobby Lobby, made a quick stop at Michaels, and exploded in my craft room.

There are ribbon scraps hanging from the ceiling, faux flowers under the couch, zip ties in places zip ties should never be, and enough hot glue strings to convince a spider it has serious competition.

Hot Glue Is Not My Friend

Let's start with the obvious.

Every wreath maker has fingerprints that are about 40% hot glue.

Which is ironic, considering I spent years in law enforcement collecting fingerprints. Back then, fingerprints solved crimes.

Now mine probably identify me as "the lady with eucalyptus stuck to her shirt and glitter permanently embedded in her skin."

CSI would take one look and say, "Yep...she's been crafting again."

If hot glue guns handed out loyalty cards, for glue burns..... I already have a free coffee and a vacation.

Ribbon Has a Personal Vendetta

Ribbon looks innocent.

• It's colorful.

• Pretty.

• Elegant.

• It lies.

One minute you're making a perfect bow.

The next minute one loop is the size of Texas and the other looks like it gave up halfway through life.

You fluff it.

You twist it.

You threaten it.

Somehow the ribbon still wins.

Glitter Changes People

When my son-in-law first moved in, he had...let's call them ambiguous feelings about glitter.

He didn't love it.

He didn't hate it.

He simply existed in a glitter-neutral state.

It wasn't immediate.

The first couple of wreaths didn't seem to bother him.

He'd walk by the craft table, glance at the ribbon and greenery, shrug, and go about his day.

Then I made my first Christmas wreath.

That's when he learned about glitter.

Now, the second he sees me carrying glittered pine picks toward the craft table, he quietly sighs, picks up the vacuum with one hand and the broom with the other, and falls in step behind me like he's been assigned to disaster recovery.

No questions.

No complaints.

No eye contact.

He knows exactly what's about to happen.

He has accepted his fate.

I've watched him walk through the house muttering, "I didn't even touch anything," while shedding glitter with every step like a reluctant Hallmark character.

The poor man has discovered the first rule of living with a wreath maker:

You don't own the glitter.

The glitter owns you.

Flowers Multiply When You're Not Looking

I'll tell myself I'm only buying a few stems.

Ten minutes later I'm wheeling out a cart that looks like I robbed a botanical garden.

Do I need seventeen varieties of eucalyptus?

Probably not.

Did I buy them anyway?

Absolutely.

Creative people don't have clutter.

We have options.

Every Wreath Has a Personality

Some wreaths come together effortlessly.

Others act like stubborn toddlers.

One flower won't sit right.

A bow keeps falling sideways.

That one branch insists on poking out like it has somewhere else to be.

Eventually I stop fighting it.

Apparently that wreath has opinions.

It hangs on a door.

It welcomes friends.

It marks a season.

It makes people smile.

That's not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

Even if it costs a few glue burns...

...and leaves glitter in the house until next Christmas.

Sorry, son-in-law.

Actually...

No, I'm not.

There's probably glitter on your shoes right now.

But Here's the Funny Thing...

Despite the glue burns.

Despite the glitter.

Despite finding fake leaves in my washing machine.

I absolutely love every minute of it.

Because somewhere between the chaos and the creativity, a pile of flowers becomes something; dare i say....magical.