If we're going to talk about Valentine's Day, be forewarned. It's going to get a little Grinchy. Because I would love to see this ridiculous holiday erased from the calendar, along with its meddling friends, Mother's Day and Father's Day.
My husband and I have an agreement to never celebrate Valentine's Day. No dinners, no flowers, no cards. And we like it that way.
Sadly, elementary schools have no such agreement. For the past few years, I have been an unwilling participant in themed parties, a begrudging baker of bake sale goodies and a grouchy shopper of paper valentines.
Oh, how I loathe you, pack of 32 Hallmark valentines. Why try so hard with your multitudinous themes and tepid love notes? Because you have the life span of a Mayfly and will soon be in the bottom of trash bins everywhere, populating landfills with your impersonal cartooned messages. When my kids bring home their decorated bags stuffed with those flimsy rectangular valentines (and the more ambitious homemade kind fashioned out of construction paper, lollipops and doilies), they end up in the recycle bin before dinner.
Alas, again I found myself in Target, deep in the belly of the red and pink valentines aisle, selecting two boxes of 32 Lego Star Wars Hallmark Valentines. ("Valentine's Day, it is. Have a happy one, you must.")
My boys will fill out the names of all of the kids in their classes next to the "To:" line. They will sign it in the "From:" line. They will add them to the valentine decks of their classmates. If valentines are given selectively, people's feelings could get hurt. If everyone gives one to everyone, it seems a little mechanical. Either way, the sentiments are heading for the garbage.
Maybe the approaching Winterfell snowpocalypse will take care of this for me by forcing school to close on Friday. Then the only valentines my kids will get will be the hugs and kisses from my husband and I that they enjoy every day, no matter what the calendar says.