Iced Valentine Cookie, photo credit Cake on the Brain Though I'm not exactly a niche blogger, two of my greatest writerly intentions are to encourage my readers–you!–to notice and treasure the extras in each day's "ordinary", and to cherish each season in your children's lives.  Ultimately, this is a measure of self service–I desperately want to do the same, and reminding you becomes reminder to me.  Grazie!

Expecting parenting perfection will defeat you quicker than Germans on a luge and amounts to ten times the crazy.  But when I miss something really big–on the surface, insignificant, but to the heart, important–I feel the need to share so you'll (I'll) be on the lookout for avoiding it in the future.

In this case, it's a "sin of omission":  I didn't do something I should have.  

At my sons' school, upperclassmen sell Valentine grams as an annual fundraiser; for a few dollars, students may receive a gram, flower, cookie or balloon.  When they were younger, order forms were sent home, but from middle school on we've received notice via email.  

I stopped sending them in middle school thinking the boys would be embarrassed by the display, and haven't given it a second thought in years…until last night.

My youngest, the kid who could be happy living in a box with a stick for a toy, made one of the most pitiful declarations I've ever heard…AND HE WASN'T EVEN GOING FOR PITY OR MANIPULATION!

Stephen {in the car, driving home}:  "You know the Valentine thingies they sold at school last week…?"

Me:  "Yeah…?"

Stephen:  "Well, I knew I wouldn't get one, so I sent one to myself…I knew I'd be DYING for one when everyone else was eating their cookies."

Sad, pitiful, rickety, not-very-good cookies from our local superstore, mass produced and crammed with nasty preservatives but apparently NECESSARY-AND-OH-SO-TASTY ON THE DAY KIDS CELEBRATE VALENTINE'S DAY AT SCHOOL!!

He was happy-go-lucky when he shared this little piece of news, having no idea the impact of his delivery.  Nightfall obscured the view of daggers wiggling in his parents' hearts.

This morning my husband called, asking me to "do something for that child".  We had to do something–anything–to alleviate the weight of our failing.

I'll deny it if you repeat it, but I'm thankful the kid is a) too busy to read my blog, and b) too young to drive.  I'm pretty sure he could walk away with the keys to a Corvette right now.


Personal post script for my sister:  I KNOW my kids are healthy, happy and have everything they need.  I do NOT think I'm a failure!  This little post is mainly to mark a memory for me, so n.o. w.o.r.r.i.e.s., k?   Love, Roberta

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