Keeping it light this weekend. The BG: This week at work the conversation somehow wound its way toward crocheting (get it…wound). Yes. Crochet. As in, the craft of linking yarns together into beautiful handmade brilliance using a hook.

“I call my mom the ‘Crochet Matriarch'” I told my co-workers.

Because she is. She’s crocheted afghans, baby blankets, doilies (of course), table cloths, a Mickey Mouse diaper cover, complete with Mickey ears, for my newborn son (too bad he came out so enormous they wouldn’t fit), and let’s not forget the hundreds of little souvenir coasters she crocheted for my wedding as guest favors.

“Do you crochet?” they asked me.

“Me? Um. No. Unless it’s a straight line…like a bracelet that unravels. Then yes.”

I realized my mom and I have little in common when it comes to anything domestic, crafty or otherwise, as she bests my pitiful skills in every activity.

I tried to think of things I do better than her.

1) I’m better at being taller. Because I’m taller.

2) I can type faster.

3) I know nearly all of the spells from Harry Potter and what they do and how to cast them say them properly.

4) I can immediately name all seven dwarves. (SleepyHappyGrumpyDopeySneezyBashfulDoc)

5) I can log into Facebook and google things without assistance.

Don’t misunderstand. It’s not a competition by any means. I just envy her weedless flower beds, canning skills, and overall ability to bake pies and make homemade jam.

So this one’s for you, ma. Now that I have two ovens in my new house, maybe I can master that pork loin.