Happy Valentines Day!

I’m now writing a monthly column in our little tiny local paper.  My first one came out yesterday.  Is it at all surprising that this little tiny paper isn’t online yet?  I didn’t think so.  So here it is (and it isn’t  the Annandale Advocate, if you were wondering.  Like my glasses?):

I went out and did a little shopping with my 4 year-old today.  We hit our regular haunt:  Target.  Since moving here 8 months ago, we’ve become intimately familiar with the store.  Ask us where anything is and we could probably tell you both the aisle number and shelf location.  But I digress.

Lightbulbs, sneakers, cake mix and moisturizer.  That‘s what we had set out to find.  But not one to be deterred by the rigidity of a list, we did our fair share of browsing.   I soon noticed that the shelves and displays that had recently been home to Christmas Clearance were now celebrating Valentine’s Day.

All the usual suspects were present.  Conversation hearts, cupids, cinnamon gummy lips, stuffed teddy bears, chocolates, lacy under things, and cards galore.  The place practically oozed sweet nothings.

Without realizing it, I was making a mental checklist.

Conversation hearts taste like chalk.
Cinnamon gummy lips.  Red food coloring.  Sugar.  Ummm, No.
Teddy bears.  Please! Our house is already overrun with Webkinz.
Chocolates don’t  mesh with the diet.
Lacy under things.  Let’s see how that diet pans out first.
Cards are so much better caked with crayon and Elmer’s glue.

I guess you can’t call me a sucker for timed commercialism.

There was a time when those things appealed to the consumer in me.  Before I assumed the task of  finding just the right box of valentines at the last minute. Before volunteering to be the one to make a bazillion pink cupcakes for school parties.  Before I found myself amid the combination of sugar highs and bedtimes.  Before I became a mom.

Thirteen years and  four children later, I’m a little older and a heck of a lot wiser.

For instance, I know that the best way to divert a child away from the allure of candy is toy bribery.  We were soon moseying our way toward the coveted Star Wars  aisle.  With a child hanging off the cart humming the Star Wars theme song,  I asked myself,
“What do I really want for Valentine’s Day?”
Here’s what came to mind during our migration from the candy aisle to the toy department:

1. To have everyone eat the dinner I’ve made without the threat of bodily harm.
2. A conversation with my 13 year-old daughter without her rolling her eyes in that  “Mom, you’re so weird” way.
3. A family drive without a discussion or demonstration of bodily secretions.
4. Seven minutes in the bathroom.  Alone.  Without notes being passed under the door, a “Wherrrrrre’s Mmmommm?”, or a Lego emergency.”
5. A complete telephone conversation without the words “texting”, “potty”, or “timeout” ever being mentioned.
6. Someone to clean out the backseat of the van and remove the chewing gum, rotting apple core, missing library book, softball mitt, putrid sock, and caramel corn that have taken up residence.
7. Time to finish the stack of parenting books on my nightstand before the kids become adults.
8. To be able to eat my entire bowl of oatmeal and read the front section of the newspaper before having to take on the role of Princess Leia.
9. To have someone besides ME replenish the toilet paper stash in all the bathrooms.
10. To have an adult conversation with my husband without having to spell, sign, or mouth any words to each other.

We eventually emerged from Target toting light bulbs, sneakers, cake mix, and moisturizer … along with a Clone Wars battle droid, a couple of magazines, and Neutrogena MoistureShine Lip Soother in Glisten (I‘m a sucker for lip gloss).

On the way home, as he sat in the backseat with the chewing gum and the softball mitt, his little voice piped up,
“Thanks for the battle droid Mom.  Do you wanna play Star Wars with me when we get home?  I’ll be Darth Vader and you can be Leia.”

On second thought, the aroma of rotten apple cores is kinda growing on me, a conversation without the eye rolling would seem strange, and I probably don’t really need to eat the entire bowl of oatmeal anyway.

Happy Valentine’s Day!