I’ve never been a fan of Valentine’s Day. It’s all too mushy gushy for a girl that neither likes to be touched nor wants to share her feelings. My husband though a bit of a romantic, lost a few grandparents on or very nearly on the 14th and thus also hates the holiday. We spent our first Valentine’s Day together 15 years ago in a car dealership picking out a Volvo for his mother, and that set the precedent. We just don’t celebrate the darn thing. I never really thought my feelings toward this day would get worse or better. Then we had a son. A son in preschool with twenty some odd Valentine’s to sign and a teacher who greatly encourages her kids to sign them all by themselves. I have a feeling this is going to go poorly.
I am all for this exercise in theory. What great practice! Hip hip hooray! And I admit that The Kraken is getting really good at writing his name. Most people can even read it. The problem is The Kraken contains 9 letters. The poor child needs the entire length of a piece of paper and them some to accomplish the feat. Oh, and getting him to actually sit down and write his name once takes begging, pleading and the occasional bribe. I should write myself a note for next year to start the Valentine’s signage shortly after the New Year. Since I can’t even find the grocery list I made yesterday, this plan is foolproof. And seeing as I didn’t have the foresight to write myself this special note last year, we have 25 cards about the size of post-it notes to sign and two nights to get it done. Should I stab my eye out now or later?
Care to learn the stages of a 4-year old losing his mind?
We began the activity with excitement, “This could be fun, momma!” And for three seconds it was. Then he realized there was no way on this green earth he would be able to fit his whole name in one line. He melted and seized for only a minute, then, being a problem solver, he wrote what letters he could and floated the remaining ones in random order just above the rest. Not all that easy to ready, but crises averted. Let’s continue. 24 more to go.
The second stage, boredom cropped up somewhere around card number 5. “How many more, momma?” He would write a couple letters, look up at me, shake his head and repeat the question. I gave him the option of stopping and picking it back up in the morning. But at the beginning of this mess I offered a temporary Star Wars tattoo when he finished the job. He never misses the opportunity for a Star Wars tattoo. When given the out he would just sigh as if exhausted, and then carry on. Only 19 more my son. Only 19 more.
Wiggles. The Wiggles phase. Not sure there is much more to add here. No one can wiggle like a 4 year old boy. Only 18 more. We can do this.
This is the crying phase, and it’s pretty ugly, folks. Upon finishing card number eight, The Kraken slammed his head down on the table and gushed, “This is torture.” No drama in this house, right? Well, son you are doing it to yourself. I would have abandoned ship three cards ago. On we tearfully go. 17 more. Ugg.
If The Kraken were a bit older our next phase would need to be censored because he just got mean. I guess he felt the only way to cope with the situation was to hurl insults: “This is so mean. Your kitchen sticks. I’m going to tell daddy you are mean. I hate this pen. No one else in school is doing this. I’m going to mess up this time just to make you mad.” Those were the only insults he could muster, and I’m very relieved. I’m just not sure what I would have done if my sweet little innocent Kraken had called me a poopy head or stupid brain or whatever it is the kids are saying these days. Talk about heartbreaking. At this point I’m really not sure how many we have left. Does everyone in your class really need a Valentine? Maybe we can shave off a few.
Cue the final and most entertaining phase: The giggles. Wow. Who knew everything, literally everything, could be so funny: the rip in the tablecloth, the sun coming through the blinds, that weird noise the refrigerator makes, my shirt. So funny in fact that all the laughter causes crying, runny nose and even the occasional drool drip. Don’t worry fellow preschool kiddos; we will wipe the body fluids off the Valentine’s before passing them out. We are finished! Hooray. 18 mostly legible. 2 really not at all legible. And 5 that are clear as day if you squint your eyes just a little bit.
I call it a victory! Forty minutes of handwriting practice through a roller coaster of emotions without the slightest inclination of bowing out. Good job Kraken! You are a better man than me. Now I’m going to need your help locating your sweet sister who disappeared more than 25 minutes ago. Wouldn’t it be great if she were practicing her handwriting on a wall somewhere? Perfect. I hate Valentine’s Day.
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