Here's a little story. I love Valentines. I love to make Valentines. I'm sorry we stopped decorating Valentine's Day "mailboxes" after grade school and I'm still trying to make up for all those lost years. When the kids were all home, I used to make heart-shaped biscuits for breakfast and heart-shaped pizza for dinner on Valentine's Day. And I made a lot of Valentines. I still make a lot of Valentines. But a couple of years ago, at the end of Valentine's Day, I realized I hadn't made one for the one "little" chickie still in the nest. I went up to my studio. I had two little stickers left. I had a tiny glassine envelope. I had a little piece of silk ribbon. I had a wicked sense of humor. I made a Valentine.
When I brought this down to the little chickie, she said, "Oh! How sweet! I was just thinking, 'I wonder if Mom knows how much I still appreciate her Valentines." And then she opened it.
I told you it was a wicked sense of humor. Well, today, Miss Mary Mack is not feeling very well. And today I decided to mess around with some of the bizillion hearts I cut out yesterday. I made this card...
...and then I practiced writing on the inside with my sewing machine.
When the little chickie saw it, she said, "Do you remember the 'mean Valentine' you made for me?" Of course I do. She said, "You're never going to live that down, Mom. I carry it in my wallet. In fact, I've transferred it from wallet to wallet several times." I felt bad. So I made another card.
And I put it in an envelope and carried to the little chickie's sick bed.
I wish you could have heard the ooohs and ahhs and the, "Oh, how sweet, Mom" when she opened the envelope. And I wish you could have been here when she opened the card...
...and laughed herself sick!
Some things never change.
I know I should feel bad.
But, really.
I got her sooooooooooooo good.