The End of the Valentine?

At the beginning of the month, I started contemplating what we (I mean, the Gort) would do for this year’s valentines. And by contemplating, I mean, it occurred to me that we (he) would need to make some and I bookmarked an idea I found on the internet.

And I didn’t do much more with it, because we had oodles of time – Valentine’s Day being on the 14th and all. And then, last Thursday (the 10th) he blindsided me; announced after dinner that he had to take his valentines to school…the next day. I was still protesting about how Valentine’s Day wasn’t until Monday and how we were going to do the cards together when – poof – he grabbed sheets of white paper. Folded them a few times. And adorned the beauties with his classmates’ names and a colored heart.

This was going to be the representation of my craftability?

I tried to suppress my horror; consoling myself that I still had time to convince him to make another batch of valentines. But instead, he stuffed them in his backpack, took them to school on Friday, and placed them in his classmates’ folders. Apparently, when he sets his mind on doing something, there’s no dissuading him. [I’ve no idea where this tunnel visioned-bullheadedness comes from.]

I mean, I hadn’t even checked his hastily constructed valentines to see if he’d spelled his friends’ names correctly. Or if he’d made one for everyone on ‘the list’. Without any warning, the kid had taken control of his own life and left me behind with my sure-to-be-adorable valentine ideas.

I was not pleased. Today it’s valentines. Tomorrow it’s driving a car….with a girl in it.

And then Sunday came and I, in my own tunnel-visioned bullheaded moment, decided to broach the subject of valentines again. ‘What if we put candy in little matchboxes for your classmates?’ I asked meekly, in an attempt to upgrade his minimalist creations to B+ territory.

‘Okay!’ he enthused, and selected a gynormous bag of pastel-colored candy hearts to place inside the boxes.

So we went home, and I diligently cut strips of plain paper, and, together, we covered the matchboxes with the plain paper. And while I was busy punching out red hearts to glue onto the matchbox tops…..our oldest boy-wonder grabbed a green marker, grabbed a covered box, made something resembling a drawing and wrote his friend’s’ name on it.

Outwitted, again.

I turned my attention to the three year old. ‘Want to make some valentines?’

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