I spent the bulk of yesterday afternoon trying to get my kids to pony up to the immensely difficult task of writing their first names on the backs of 20 Hannah Montana/Transformers/Incredible Hulk Valentine's Day cards.
At one point there were stickers and small bags of conversation hearts to accompany each valentine, but like the dinosaurs, these objects couldn't withstand the force of their predators and went extinct.
"We'll have to go out and buy some more candy," said Camber, giggling.
"You ate all of your friends' valentines," I stated matter-of-factly, hoping that the weight of my words would trigger some semblance of remorse.
My daughter shrugged her shoulders and went back to writing gigantic C's and A's on each valentine. There wasn't enough room on each card for the rest of the letters in her name.
Kellen needed to be shown the precise location of the perforated line separating each valentine.
"Please don't rip your valentines in half," I begged.
Cortlen was unusually focused and cooperative.
I was in the process of praising my son's work ethic when I noticed the writing on each of his valentines. My son had written something on each of his cards, but it was definitely not his name.
"What does this say?" I asked, pointing to the letters. They spelled S-I-G-L-R.
"My new name," replied Cortlen. "I changed it yesterday."
"To what?" I wanted to know.
"Kyle Singler," he replied, naming one of the starters of Duke University's men's basketball team.
"That's normal," I said, and turned my attention to the tape dispenser and Kellen's stack of dismembered robots.
***
How goes the fun task of Valentine card-making in your neck of the woods?
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