Mommy Madness: Resisting the Urge to Make Goodie Bags

It’s the Tuesday before Valentines Day. I’ve just come home from Wal-Mart with groceries for the week, including some fun stuff like Caladium bulbs for the front yard and Penguins of Madagascar Valentine cards for Andrew and Jack to give to their classmates on Friday. After the impromptu wrestling match that ensued last year at CVS because Andrew wanted to buy Clone Wars Valentines, while more sensitive, traditional Jack, wanted puppy/kitten cards, I went shopping alone. Although gossip has died down, people occasionally ask if the Weight kids are still banned from the CVS on Hillcrest. What does it matter, really? RiteAid has more attractive prescription labels, and their staff is less judgmental.

Anyway, I have the 2010 Valentine cards now. Sometime before Friday Andrew will carefully write each of his classmates’ names in his best cursive, while I beg and plead with Jack to at least scribble an “X” on his 12 cards. Jack is 4, in pre-K and just learning to write his name. Outwardly, he’s proud of his new found writing skill, but has no desire to demonstrate it, not even when bribed with marshmallows. His refusal applies only to certain documents: Valentines, homework and birthday cards. However, he has no problem at all scrawling his John Hancock in graffiti style 48 pt font across our mortgage documents and Andrew’s birth certificate.

Now onto my dilemma that I need your help with. It’s not about how to get Jack to write his name on command, or how to get back in good graces with the Dublin CVS store (but anytime you want to mention what a nice, upstanding family the Weights are to anyone on their management team, including, but not limited to Mike White, Trevor Shenker or Danielle Smith, it’s fine with us). My dilemma is whether to make Valentine’s Day goodie bags for my kids’ classmates.

“Surely you jest! This is the biggest decision of your life right now? You call THIS a dilemma!?!?!?” I hear my sister Pamela’s mocking voice in the back of my mind. “I have 27 patients in various stages of stomach cancers, 3 in need of new kidneys, 436 with H1N1, and one suffering complications of a scalp transplant gone wrong. And YOU’RE stressing over making goodie bags!” Insignificant. It’s how she’s made me feel my whole life. I’m just imagining that’s how the phone conversation would go were I to call her. So I won’t.

I refuse to fall victim to holiday mania. Like so many overzealous moms who have turned every holiday on the Gregorian calendar (including Arbor Day and Administrative Assistant’s Day**) into occasions to have parties, send clever cards, try festive new recipes and lavish children with cellophane baggies full of plastic trinkets that will be lost in mini-van and couch crevices in under three hours. I call it the Hallmark effect.

I remember Valentines Days when I was a kid, I got Valentine cards. Only. Garfield, Bugs Bunny, Strawberry Shortcake, My Little Pony, Mr. Robinson’s Neighborhood. They were plain old cards, no goodie bags, not even a Tootsie pop taped to the envelope. Now kids bring home Nintendo-DS games and tanning salon gift certificates along with their conversation hearts. Back in my day, the only one getting presents at a birthday party was the birthday kid. Now everyone, even younger siblings who weren’t invited, get elaborate goodie bags that I swear must cost $25 bucks a piece. I want to pull the parents aside and say “how ‘bout instead of giving Andrew and Jack goodie bags, you pay my cable bill. Deal?”

I hate making class goodies. I’m not Martha Stewart. I’m not even Peg Bundy. It’s a competition I can’t win. Heck, I won’t even get honorable mention. I’ve tried. After the madness of making homemade eyeballs with dyed red coconut blood vessels stuffed inside ghost bags with plastic yo-yo’s, glow bracelets and bouncy balls for Halloween, I said “no more!” Then the night before the class Christmas party, I stayed up late putting together goodie bags with bubbles, pixie sticks, stickers and mood rings, only to see the next day that Kelsey’s mom had knitted a red reindeer cap for every kid in the class, and they were really cute, with cool zigzag stitching. Jake’s mom had painted each child’s name on their own keepsake ornament. I wanted to burn Jack’s cap and ornament along with the trite little inadequate baggies I was handing out. Knowledge of city fire ordinances kept me from doing so. I shook my fist in the air and shouted “NEVER AGAIN” to no one in particular except the janitor who looked a little frightened. I would NOT participate in this competition of Mommy Show Off Madness.

Now Valentine’s Day is approaching. I know that if I don’t make goodie bags, or at least some clever craft that the teacher will coo over saying “oh isn’t that just precious!” I’ll feel guilty. I’ll feel as if I’ve failed my sons. If Jack catches the flu this year, I’ll know it’s because I didn’t make V-Day goodie bags. If, in first grade, he scores below grade level on the CRCT, I’ll trace it back to the absence of goodie bags in February 2010. If at 16, he steals a car and takes it on a criminal joyride to Mexico leaving a trail of destruction, robbery and arson in his wake, I’ll blame it on……

Maybe I will make goodie bags after all. Ya know, better safe than sorry.

** Admin Assistant's Day is no longer called Secretaries Day because the latter term was deemed politically incorrect by a government agency made up of overly sensitive, easily offended people which was formed to discern terms that might offend at least one out of every 65 million people. This led to kinder, more sensitive naming of holidays that no one really celebrates anyway.

Groundhog Meteorology

*Yes, of course the names have been changed. You can't live in a town the size of Dublin and expect people not to know your business. In fact, half of you reading this will know who Meredith and Stacy really are.

Yesterday morning, Meredith, Stacy and I did our usual Blackbird coffee routine where we sit for an hour solving the problems of every desperate diva of Dublin, tackling serious issues like who's a closet alcoholic, who has new boobs, controlling husbands with widening wastelines, church drama and getting our biceps to look like Michelle Obama's. With each topic we heaped on "bless their hearts" like raw sugar on our coffees.

After about half an hour, talk turned to the weather. Ya know it's a low drama day in Dublin when a hen party turns to safe default topics that early. "Do y'all know if the groundhog saw his shadow yesterday?" asked Meredith. "I don't think I can take six more weeks of cold weather."

"He did see his shadow," answered Stacy, who never misses a news story, be it about healthcare reform or the ghost of Michael Jackson. "But I can never remember what that means. If the groundhog sees his shadow does that mean spring is right around the corner or it's going to stay cold?"

"Shadow means cold, and no shadow means early spring," explained Meredith, who seemed to have memorized this the way a child learns "lefty loosy, righty tighty." "I never understood why, though. He sees his shadow because the sun is out and we think of spring when we think sunny days, and winter when we see clouds, in which he wouldn't see his shadow. I don't get it, but I guess you can't argue with a groundhog."

"I don't really think it's scientific," I finally chimed in. "I mean, I'd stick with the Weather Channel if I were you." Both Meredith and Stacy looked at me with incredulity as if I'd just denounced the Holy Trinity. "Well," said Stacy taking offense to my shrugging off of Punxsutawney Phil's ominous prediction, "he's been doing it for years and been amazingly accurate."

"I'm just saying I wouldn't put 100% of my trust in an oversized woodland rodent. It's like taking my stock portfolio over to Mrs. Cooper, the palm and Tarot card reader to predict the Dow Jones." I could see that I wasn't gaining popularity with my friends and I may just not be invited to the next coffee talk session. In an effort to save myself, I tried to offer a look to the bright side. "Well, ya know Punxsutawney Phil is up in Pennsylvania. Maybe that just means that THEY'LL have six more weeks of cold weather. Wouldn't it be hard for him to say what'll happen here in GA?"

"Angela," Stacy sneered, "there are groundhogs all over the country that predict the weather for their areas. We're not in Punxsutawney Phil's region. We have our own representative."

"Oh! Wow." I'd been TOLD. Clearly, I was stepping out of line on a topic about which I was clearly ignorant. This led to my brain bubbling over with questions...that I didn't want to ask Stacy and Meredith for fear of further alienation.

A full 24 hours later, it's still bothering me. I've obviously got to do some research on the subject of groundhogs, Groundhog Day and how what I'd assumed was just a ceremonial holiday actually indicates our global weather patterns. Maybe Al Gore should consult with groundhogs in researching the greenhouse effect and global warming. They'd probably see HIS shadow...and laugh.

Here are my questions in no particular order, just in case you've been wondering the same things or have any insights you'd like to share.

1) If there are regional groundhogs, how are they chosen? Are they elected officials? I've never seen "GROUNDHOG" listed on any ballot I've ever cast. Maybe it's not a people vote; maybe only groundhogs vote. And if they do, then do several groundhogs run for this highly coveted office, spending lots of donated money on their campaigns? Do they serve four year terms? Can they be impeached? Can their decision be overturned if they didn't see their shadow but an onlooker did? That leads to another question. What are the qualifications to being the Groundhog Day groundhog? I supposed good eyesight would be at the top of the list. Also the ability to discern their own shadow from that of a groundhog shaped bush that they may be standing next to. Do groundhogs have to take meteorology classes? Is it a paid position? Can I nominate a groundhog that I think would be good for the job. I mean, heck, it's one day a year. Who wouldn't want those hours? If there are regional groundhogs, why don't we ever hear of the one in Georgia? I'd like to know his (or her) name. It's probably something like Sonny or Bubba or Jimmy Ray.

2) And what about Punxsutawney Phil? He's been the official USA seasonal prediction rodent since I was a child. Is he really old now, or have there been a whole string of Phil's like UGA dogs and Morris the 9 Lives cats? Does Phil live in a posh underground lair with a wetbar, a jacuzzi and lots of sexy female groundhogs ready to serve him,paid for by the government? Or, does the mayor of Punxsutawney just go into the woods early morning on Feb 2nd and nab the first groundhog he sees? Then he takes the terrified animal back to Gobbler's Knob amid marching bands and TV cameras, where it urinates on him upon spotting its shadow which now frightens the poor critter to an early death?

If #2 is accurate, then I'm surprised PETA hasn't gotten involved protesting unfair labor practices. Does Punxsutawney Phil get a salary? benefits? woker's comp for on the job injuries? Are there any groundhog labor unions to keep them from being exploited?

Okay, time to get to work answering these oh so vital questions. I'll post my answers soon. I know you're just as concerned as I am.