Rebel

Last night, all over this great continent, some people were primping and priming themeselves and their wardrobes in preparation for today's celebration of love. Others were scrambling to order flowers online or find a card at the second-last minute. But everyone I know was cursing their children's classmates for their hard-to-spell names and their sheer numbers, and wrestling with printers or glue or tape or stickers, and wondering just how upset a class of three-, four-, five-, six-, or seven-year-olds would be if they didn't get a Valentine's card from every single other classmate.

Well, I'll tell you this afternoon, becuase my two went in with nary a card to their names. (That means nothing.)

Last week, as I think I mentioned, I was delighted to find some cute pre-made Valentine's cards in the local store. I got a pack of superhero ones for Dash, princess ones for Mabel. They, in turn, were also delighted, and sat down forthwith to write in the "To" and "From" names and seal them with a sticker. That was all they had to do. Crafts are for the birds, I thought. This is perfect.

They both got about halfway through their class lists. "That's great," I announced. We'll do a few more each day and by next Thursday they'll all be ready."
"Not so fast," said Fate to me.

The next day, Dash's teacher sent home a note saying that everyone should bring in 24 blank envelopes and a packet of candy hearts on Thursday. The blank envelopes confused me for a while - should there be anything inside them? How would the cards get to the right people if their names weren't on the outsides? Also, our cards didn't come with envelopes. Also also, I try to minimize the candy, especially the no-redeeming-features sugar-and-Red-40 type candy. If everyone brings in a pack, there's going to be a lot of candy in the classroom. (They plan to use them for math before eating them. So that makes it fine, right?)

A short consultation with Facebook enlighted me about the envelopes: what she meant was that the Valentines should have a sender's name but no recipient's name, for ease of distribution. Which makes it only almost, but not absolutely entirely, pointless. But Dash had done half the names already. Should he finish up the rest or not?

The decision was made by Dash deciding not to do any more, and not to bring any in. Mabel also fell off the wagon and gave up on her cards, so this morning I said:

"Right, are either of you bringing in Valentines today?"
"No," they chorused cheerfully.
"Okay then."

I did not say "Well, how will you feel if you're the only child who doesn't give cards in your class?" For one thing, the four-year-olds won't notice. For another, the six-year-olds probably won't either. And for the most part, I don't like being held hostage by Hallmark, the craft industry, the school, and some imaginary set of judgemental parents for yet another thing to think I should nag my children about if I want to be a good mother.

My children did not bring in any cards today. I'm fine with that. (But if I meet you I'll probably apologise profusely, just to be on the safe side.)

Consumer index

I panicked at Target this morning.

So many of Target's success stories probably start out that way. And by success stories I mean times they parted people from way more of their money than they went in intending to be parted from.

So I went in to get a pack of crayons for Dash (yes, we have eleventy million crayons in the house, but he needed a new pack for school, and taking some brand-new practically unused crayons out of our big box and putting them into a smaller box would not do, in spite of the fact that he and his sister scorn everything but markers at home but I digress) and maybe a couple of other school supplies his teacher said they were running short on (scissors; how do kids run out of scissors? What are they doing with them? Using them to cut up other pairs of scissors?) and some toothpaste because he won't use the new "clean squeeze" tube I just got because it's too minty, damnit, even though he likes mint, and then I thought maybe some new bathtub foam letters for Mabel to keep the grand universal scales of "you bought something for one child" level...

... and then I got to the Star Wars section of the toys and suddenly worried that Target would stop promoting Star Wars all of a sudden, because maybe something else is the next big thing and now that Disney has Star Wars (even though with JJ Abrams at the helm everyone knows that it's going to be absolutely the thing to see, but maybe the 6-year-old set aren't so well up on JJ Abrams's oeuvre, not having watched all of Alias, probably) perhaps the cool kids won't want lightsabers by April so I bought the damn Darth Maul red double-blade lightsaber that Dash has been begging for since some time last summer.

(I got into big, huge, trouble with him one night a few weeks ago when he suddenly remembered that he had thought he might get one for Christmas and then he didn't, and I was the worst, cruelest mother on the planet (and probably also on Alderaan and Tatooine) for not giving him a double-blade for Christmas when I had promised I would (note: I hadn't) and I should go out the very next morning and get him a double-blade to make up for it and when I wouldn't agree that this was clearly the correct way for me to atone for my sins, he threw a long, long hissy that still gets revisited from time to time when he remembers to be very upset about the whole incident.)

So there, fine, now he's getting his double-blade for his birthday (at the end of April; never say I don't plan ahead), because you can't just go out and buy people big presents when it's not Christmas or birthday or the culmination of some long-worked-for sticker-chart extravaganza.

(In related news, Mabel is plotting how she can get another baby sooner than her November birthday. She asked me the other day if we could do another star chart for her using the toilet, since that worked so well the last time. I pointed out that she knew how to do that now, so no, that wouldn't work. I wonder how I can leverage this desire of hers into some sort of necessary behaviour?)

But despite having the entire cave of wonders at my child-free-browsing disposal, I still didn't manage to find anything nice or unexpected or quirky or even predictable to give my beloved husband on the occassion of tomorrow's Annoying Hallmark Holiday. Looks like he's getting two delightful children. Again.

Hey, this year they're potty trained. It gets better.