With Valentine’s Day around the corner, there has been quite a bit of hoopla around this house in preparation.
When I was a kid, I don’t remember doing much of anything for Valentine’s Day. Back in January, Luke’s preschool held a meeting to inform all the parents about upcoming events. Valentine’s boxes. Cards. And a Valentine’s Ball. I know this is relatively small stuff, but I came home ready to have a complete meltdown. February is never a good month for us – usually everyone gets sick, and this year was no exception. I was physically exhausted and had zero desire to take my son to do the YMCA and the chicken dance.
We made the boxes. Luke wanted a monster box. We covered a tissue box with contact paper that I had lying around, and added eyes and random other stuff.
Naturally, Ben wanted one too.
I saw some of the boxes at Luke’s preschool, and while his is far from the best, I’m just happy that I stopped him before he started gluing “male bits” onto his monster box.
“Luke, your monster is fine. He doesn’t have to be anatomically correct.”
He tried to compromise. “What about just the buns, Mom?”
Why kids have to constantly throw you for a total loop, I’ll never know.
We plodded through him writing his name 16 times on valentines for his classmates. Ben now proudly recites, “My name is Ben. L – U – K – E.” It’s not that Luke can’t spell his own name, but I had to explain 16 times that he was supposed to write his own name on the cards, not his classmates name.
The day of the Valentine’s Ball, I got him semi-dressed up. He was very excited. I put on a dress and pumps and prayed that I wouldn’t slip in the snow on the way into his preschool.
The crazies set in relatively quickly.
Not enough fun to look forward to Valentine’s Day next year, but enough that the hassle was worth it, this year.