Valentine’s Day as a parent is Hallmark holiday hell. Screw all of those depressed, single people with their “woe as me, I’m going to have to eat dinner alone and watch a movie solo.” It sounds like HEAVEN.
There is some unspoken competition raging between moms of kids in daycare to come up with the coolest, craftiest Valentines ever. They create cute little cardboard cutout hearts and peanut-free, organic treats. These moms are the reason why Pinterest makes me insecure.
I don’t even know the names of my kid’s classmates. Granted, my husband takes them to and from daycare. How am I supposed to write up their Valentines?
To: the kid who reliably has snot running down his upper lip.
To: the little French girl who doesn’t speak any English, je t’aime.
To: The new kid who bites my daughter on the arm all the time. XOXO
This week, I am signed up to bring cookies to both kid’s classes. I learned my lesson last year and refuse to bring in a batch of burnt crusty brownies again. I’m gonna be that guy that brings in something clearly labeled “Publix.” It won’t be organic, cause that stuff is just plain expensive.
Then, there’s celebrating a holiday centered around romance when there is so very little of it in a household with two toddlers. I have visions of slow-dancing with my husband after getting a little tipsy from the wine over a fancy dinner. Afterward, we will bow chicka bow wow and sleep like babies.
Ahhh, but we HAVE babies.
So, we will get reacquainted over a quick, reasonable dinner, keep the drinking to a minimum so we can pick up the kids from daycare date night without them calling the cops and hope to be sleeping by 10 so we can get up at 6 in the morning with the kids.
Shopping for my husband is worse than pulling teeth. I prefer a root canal to trying to figure out what he would actually like.
He has started providing me with a wish list, which means there are no surprises and I still somehow manage to bungle it. Wrong shoe size, books with clever titles he would never read, coffee cups that were so ginormous they looked like they belonged to Rock Biter from Neverending Story.
They look like big, good, strong hands.
I know all he really wants is a glass of bourbon, his pipe and some privacy.
Every single Valentine’s Day card reads the same these days: “I miss you.” “I can’t wait until…” “Someday we will… ”
I hate Valentine’s Day for a plethora of new reasons.
I love my husband every day.
I love my children immensely.
Got plenty of the love stuff.
I hate candy, crafts, baking, pink and shopping. I just realized that’s everything my daughter loves. Great, I officially hate my daughter’s favorite holiday.
These probably wouldn’t fly with 3 years olds, huh?
Living The American Scream 