Happy Valen... oh whatever.

Valentines: they ain't for kids. Apparently they're for the kids' parents.

This is according to my facebook feed, instagram, and various mommy blogs I've seen in the days leading up to the most over-hyped holiday of the year.

Let me start with this: Valentine's Day has never been more than a tiny blip on my radar. It's one of those days where it's nice to say, "Let's not have leftovers for dinner," but that's about it.

In college, I was dating a guy, and by "dating" I mean we met at Stetson's on the Moon (always a promising start) sometime within the month before Valentine's Day, and had talked on the phone and gone to dinner a few times. I was 19, he was 21. On Valentine's Day, I AIM'd him (do kids know what that is? It's a stone age technology that predates texting which was created by a company called AOL--you may have heard of them) just to say, "Hey, happy V-day."

The response was something like, "Hey, this is his cousin. I'm borrowing his computer. He's not here right now."

Riiiiiight. 

I wasn't trying to get him to give me a dozen roses or take me out somewhere fancy like Bennigans. No, seriously I was just thinking, "Well, it's Valentine's Day. Suppose I'll say hi. OVER AIM."

Innocent though my intentions were, the sheer daring act of reaching out over a chat messenger to say hey on Valentine's Day sent this guy into such a panic that he disappeared until sometime after Spring Break and then he was all, "Hey, sorry, I've just been so busy..."

And I was all, "Buh-bye."

Even shy, skinny as a rail, bangs as big as the sun, 19-year-old me had a little spine.

Valentine's Day is just too much pressure. That kid fled, quaking and trembling, to hide in the forests and glens (or bars and frat houses) for at least a month because I wanted to say Hi.

What does that have to do with facebook and instagram and mommy blogs? EVERYTHING. Well, something, anyway. The corollary is that this pressure still exists. But we're older now. Mature (allegedly). Spawning. So now the pressure has morphed into the form of "mommy pressure."

You know what I mean. Your child is supposed to bring in Valentine's Day cards. Mom or dad is stuck doing the work. But no more is it enough to buy a box of cards from K-mart, slap some names on them, maybe put a Pixie Stick in the envelope and call it a day. (The fancy kids would give you a Fun Dip. I loved the fancy kids.)

Now, apparently, I have to start doing cards for her class as soon as my child is walking. Because they can read at 15 months, right? I have to print out thoughtfully designed labels on organic hemp paper and hire a calligrapher (or, if I'm a good mom, learn calligraphy myself) to write out each child's name on said label. Then I attach that organic hemp label to a 100% compostable cellophane bag and inside the compostable cellophane bag I better have some sort of magnificent candy. I mean that junk better be OFF THE CHAIN. It's preferable that it be some concoction of suckers and marshmallows and red hots (all organic) that mom stayed up until 11:30 at night putting together, but failing that, I better get the good stuff. To top it off, I need to create the punniest rhyme this side of the Mississippi. "I'm sweet on you," is bush league stuff, man. Take it up about 100 notches, okay?

I'm not sure if my feelings on this are coming across very clearly, so allow me to elucidate. I DON'T GIVE TWO RATS ABOUT THIS STUFF. 

I don't want to act like I'm immune to the mommy pressure. I feel it already and my baby isn't a year old yet. Yes, it's there, but ultimately this ain't me. I'm not "the crafty mom." I don't want to spend hours putting together a cards for children I only kind of recognize when I'm not even buying my husband a card. I mean, to what end? So I can post a picture? Feel smug? I enjoy a nice smug every so often, but crafty stuff is not my forte. 

Actually, I think I'd be really good at crafty stuff but my interests lie elsewhere. Like Hulu. And writing (sometimes). And trying to spy how many teeth my kid has without losing a finger trying to pry her lips apart. It's kind of like my stance on Elf on the Shelf: too much work for mommy makes mommy say "Sorry, Sweetums! Not happening!"

I'm tempted to tell you it's because it's so unimportant (which is true, it is) compared to all the other things I could be doing like laughing and rolling around on the floor with my daughter, making memories and building lasting bonds (also true). There are lots of blogs out there right now about how moms need to quit trying to live picture perfect lives and just LIVE (and I agree).

Truth be told, though, if I had hours and hours of romping, laughing, and playing with Sutton and then still had a few hours after bedtime to sit down and make Social Media Worthy Valentines, I still wouldn't. Because I. Don't. Want. To. 

Besides, it's not like "making crafty valentines" is diametrically opposed to "being present with your children." It's not either/or. You can totally do both, if you want. 

If you're the parent who totally goes all out and makes the organic hemp labels and the perfectly crafted candy for all the toddlers in day care, I'm not hating on you. It takes time, effort, and creativity to do that. I'm impressed by your effort and the results. Some people genuinely enjoy creating this stuff, and more power to you!

But for those of you who only do these elaborate things because the other parents are, and you're wearing your competitive mommy or daddy pants, you can count on "winning" against me. I'm not even putting myself in the race. These things are supposed to be for your child and his or her friends and classmates. Not for little Johnny's mom who's always dressed a little too perfectly or Susie's dad who wants to seem like he's the most involved dad ever when--whatever, you're way more involved than he is! 

Kids care about two things: getting a valentine and scoring free candy. The packaging is nice, but it's going in the garbage within a day.

Obviously the 21-year-old kid I met under the disco ball and flashing lights at Stetson's and I didn't go the distance. But perhaps we have more in common than I realized. That pressure to perform on Valentine's Day wasn't for him. And it isn't for me either.

When Sutton gets old enough, I'll drive to Target (or the Dollar Tree), find some cute, cheap Valentine's Day cards, stick a piece of candy in them, and call myself Mom of the Year.

I'd like to close this piece by relaying a story: I showed my husband a picture of some crazynuts valentines someone was working on for their child. He said, "That's nice for them. Not happening here." 

We're so meant for each other.

Valentines and Fun Dip to you and yours,

xo