I just love Valentine’s Day. Actually, I love all holidays. It gives me an excuse to cook something special and celebrate. At least, I think I love holidays, especially now that having a kid makes is supposed to make it all the more Special and Fun. So when Mountain Child says to me, “I WANNA MAKE BALENTINES,” I think, “Oooohhh, goody! Now we will have Fun Craft Time!” I just love crafts. It isn’t that I am even good at them. It is just a fun reason to go to the store and buy cute things. I secretly fantasize that Martha Stewart and I collaborate and chat over the phone. And though she has an icy personality even when she is trying to relate to the inferior masses, I still want to be her friend. I know. I am total freak.
So we are strolling around Target and Mountain Child is crying for popcorn. I tell her that we aren’t going to get popcorn because it is too close to lunch.
“NO LUNCH!!! I WANT BREAKFAST!” Mountain Child loves breakfast. Actually, she loves every meal. But she is especially fond of breakfast—the kind that is practically a five course meal in the mornings. Each morning she asks for—and I am not kidding when I say this—cereal with milk, fruit, apple juice, two cheesy eggs and a veggie sausage. We like to eat big breakfasts in the Mountain Household, which is probably the secret reason that I wanted to quit my full-time job. I just want to have a decent breakfast in the morning without rushing or getting up at 5 a.m.
“Okay, fine. We will have breakfast.”
“NO BREAKFAST!!!!!!! I WANT CHOCOLATE! WHERE MY BLANKY!?!????!!!!”
She is whipping herself in a fine frenzy. I lean in and tell her that she will go to time out if she doesn’t quit. Of course, she doesn’t even hear me. Honestly, threats of time out—threats of anything—are absolutely useless when this kid is hungry. I remember when I used to plan my days so meticulously so that mealtimes and naptimes were neatly incorporated. The only problem was that it usually meant that I stayed home all of the time. I grab some decorative paper and stickers for our Valentine cards. And I am about to cry, too, because I had this idea in my head that the whole experience from start to finish would be really fun. But this isn’t fun. This is stressful. I now understand why most parents just resign themselves to the pre-made Dora and Hannah Montana-themed Valentine cards where all you have to do is just write your kid’s name at the bottom. But I couldn’t let myself do that. We will have HANDMADE, REALLY SUPER CUTE CARDS THAT MOUNTIAN CHILD DID! AND WE WILL HAVE REALLY FOND MEMORIES OF THE EXPERIENCE!
I need to quit having these expectations. What is even more depressing is that no one will even know of my mental angst and the hours that I spend on this whole thing. Not even my own daughter, who will likely “help” with “her” cards for exactly two and half minutes before darting off to her next diversion. But I carry on. That is one thing about me. Once I get something in my head, I hang on to the bitter end.
So to get her to stop crying, I say casually, “Do you want to make Valentine cookies?”
She immediate dries up and says, “COOKIES?”
“Yes, Valentine cookies.”
“I WANT A COOKIE.”
“Well, we have to make them first. And then we can eat them. So quit throwing a fit so we can do that.”
Mountain Child has all but forgotten about her meltdown about the popcorn, chocolate and the missing blanky. She is now naming all of the colors that our cookies can be. Great. Now I have to get everything for cookies. I could get the tube of cookie dough. But no. I must make them from scratch because….well, because Martha would know.
We finally get home and I begin to get our things in order. Change diaper first (Yes. I know she’s three and still in diapers. That’s a whole other thing.), clean kitchen from breakfast, get a load of laundry done, make beds…hmmmm…I am not sure if I can fit this in.
And here is the problem of staying home. You really have to remember why you did this in the first place. Maybe not for Other Better Mothers, but for me, I start to think of what a mess my house is, and somehow, Mountain Child is left just watching me do my chores. Okay, okay, I will allow the house to be a mess. We will do cookies.
Mountain Child loves cooking with me. And since I do it so often, she gets a lot of opportunities to “help.” But it does have its pitfalls. Like when she decides to tweak recipes when I am not looking. Or when her hand-eye coordination isn’t quite developed to the point of being able to make her mark when adding ingredients in the bowl:
“Okay, sweetie, go ahead and pour the sugar in the bowl.”
“WOOPSIE!!” The sugar is now all over the counter, stove, and floor. We try again. About half of it makes it in. I try to estimate how much more we need by surveying the floor—which, by the way, isn’t a great way to calculate much of anything. I dump in the bowl what I think we need to make up the difference. This was a fatal mistake.
“NOOOOOOOOO, MOMMMMMMEEEEEEEEE!!! THAT’S MY SUGAR!” Did I mention that, upon Mountain Child turning three years old, she has gotten a mean case of the selfishes?
“But I have to do this to make sure that the cookies taste sweet. Don’t you want the cookies to taste sweet?”
“YES! THAT’S MY COOKIES!!!!!!” Mountain Child is now rolling on the floor that is covered with sugar, screaming. She is a sugar-coated monster now. I put her in time-out and finish the cookie dough myself. We will decorate the cookies later.
After her time-out, I just don’t have the stomach to work on cookies anymore. I have already cleaned up the kitchen, and I really can’t take anymore melt-downs. I don’t want to start drinking in the middle of the day. So we work on Valentine’s Day cards. Why I think this will be easier than making cookies, I am not sure, but we do.
Mountain Child is having fun for about 37 seconds. She picks out some paper that I have already cut out into heats and she helps to glue it on the card. She scribbles on the inside of the card and randomly sticks some glittery stickers on it. And then she is off, pretending she is Dora the Explorer. This is her favorite game. It requires no toys or props. Mountain Child runs back and forth around the house, reciting WORD FOR WORD an ENTIRE Dora video. This includes the entire introduction, songs, even the sound effects. Yes, I know. It’s a little creepy.
“Let’s finish our Valentines, honey! What buttons do you want to glue on?”
I have violated the number one rule of three-year-olds: I have interrupted her.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MOMMMMMMMEEEEEEEE!” Mountain Child is now rolling around on the floor again. At least now there isn’t any sugar on the floor.
I give up. I put her in time-out again and then just put her down for her nap. And this another little tidbit about three-year-olds: they don’t think they need a nap anymore. She gets up after about ten minutes. “I WANT COOKIES.” I start to daydream about the days when my husband and I would just take off for Valentine’s Day weekend to some fun hotel and it really was a romantic holiday. Now it has been reduced to me being a slave to Martha’s crafts and decorating cookies while trying to negotiate truces with my child every five minutes.
Fast forward to the next day, Valentine’s Day. At this point, I have finished the cards myself. I wake up early that morning; make heart-shaped biscuits and gravy with fruit salad. I serve Mountain Child and my Mountain Man breakfast in bed. I crawl into bed and hand my husband the card that our daughter/I made. We snuggle in bed, eat our breakfast and listen to Mountain Child pretend to read us books.
I am pretty sure that this ended up being best Valentine’s Day ever.
