It’s not like I really need you, Valentine’s Day.
Sure, you’re a well-marketed, forced reminder to shower those you love with candy and gifts. But I do loving things for my family all through the year. I don’t just wait until that mystical day in February to let them know they are loved and appreciated.
Like the other day, when I made a big chicken pot pie for dinner, and my husband suggested I get ramekins so that next time I could make smaller, more time consuming, individual chicken pot pies. I didn’t bludgeon him to death, because that’s love.
And when Connor asked me for the 378th time to watch Spy Kids, which we don’t even own, I did not run screaming down the street like a lunatic. Because I love him (not because I was still in my pajamas).
Expectations. I don’t like the expectations that you bring. Because of you, “Every Kiss Begins with Kay” and Zale’s is pressuring me to “Be Brilliant.”
Look, I’m short and pudgy and I have a bad back. My personality can best be described as a cross between Ouiser from Steel Magnolias, and Roseanne. The last thing I need is candy, and if I can’t even afford to go on vacation then jewelry would just be ridiculous, and much too flashy for the local Wal-mart.
No, I don’t want a massage certificate because I don’t want to lay on a table, wrapped in a towel, obsessing over my cellulite. Also, I will not be going out to dinner because the idea of paying 20% more for a meal than I would on a regular Saturday night makes the bargain hunter in me clench up tighter than an Emo guy’s skinny jeans.
And the other reason, Valentine’s Day, that I not only don’t need you, but DESPISE you?
Because of you, and this ridiculous tradition of giving out small, cardboard cards to every classmate, my son had a MEP (meltdown of epic proportions) yesterday, that last an hour-and-a-half. That’s right, screaming, crying, running out of the room, begging to go to bed early…all because he could not deal with writing 21 names down on those cards.
Those fucking, fucking fuck-cards.
And it’s been over a year since the last MEP. I’m reluctant to say that, because so many parents are dealing with this daily. But I was foolish enough to believe that we were past that hurdle, that we had progressed beyond those days.
But thanks to you, Valentine’s Day, you took a perfectly happy Sunday afternoon and you shit all over it. And you made me take out my rusty ABA skills so I could “hold the demand” and steer us through the rocky waters and complete the task.
It may have ended well, with Connor’s mood improving once he finished, but I will not forget this.
I will not forget.
Perhaps I will begin serving Hamburger Helper often, and save up to take a vacation during Valentine’s Day next year.
And since we won’t be doing those damn cards again, hopefully it will be an MEP-free vacation.