Good Night Valentine

I won first place for the giant pink hippo card I made for a valentine contest. I was in the third grade.

I used to love Valentines’ day.

We would decorate shoe boxes with pink and red construction paper, sparkle, and doilies. Then we’d bring little valentines to school and place them in each other’s boxes. I remember hoping that Richard Allison, a pale boy with a runny nose, would put a valentine in my box.   He did.  I was elated. I loved that card with its germy prints all over it.  I probably loved it better than anything I’ve gotten since from the opposite sex.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve gotten my share of cards and roses over the years.  But the gifts always seemed so contrived, so forced. It’s probably me. After all, I’m the common denominator in all of my failed relationships.

So when I see the stupid jewelry commercials that saturate every channel this time of year I want to let out a primal scream.   The mushiness makes me swoon… and not in a good way.

My daughter is twenty eight and lives far away.    She’s a tour manager for punk bands, so she’s on the road a lot.  I haven’t seen her for over a year.   I usually decorate crazy boxes to send her on random holidays. I still have that creative drive although I don’t paint hippo cards anymore. The boxes I’ve made for her have been garish and silly. I think I made a valentines box last year with pin-up men all over it because pin-up men are so absurd…as are pin-up women.

As much as I dislike Valentine’s Day I still buy the damned cards for family and friends.  My Mom loved the musical cards we’d give her.   She’s gone now, so every time I spend an hour in a card shop I think about how much she'd like to get one of them.  Now you can buy books that record your voice as you read. It occurred to me that I’d love to hear my Mom’s voice again, the way it was when she could still pick up the phone and call me…back when she could write long notes in cards and make frosted sugar cookies in the shape of hearts.

As I wandered through the store I couldn’t believe what I saw. There, on the shelf, was the book Goodnight Moon. It was recordable, made so a child can listen to someone who can’t be there in person, read it to them. I bought it. What a hypocrite I am to complain about mushy jewelry commercials! What’s sappier than sending a children’s book to your grown, independent child?  My punk rock daughter will think I’ve lost my mind when she gets this book (read by her mother).   It was one of her favorite stories when she was little.  It’s simple, but it has a cadence that’s comforting when combined with the simplicity.   I used to read it to her every night before she went to sleep.

                                 

I remember a little poem my Mother and I said when she’d tuck me in at night.   It was a prayer that began with Now I lay me down to sleep. At the end of the prayer, which also had a pleasant cadence, I would ask God to bless everyone from my parents to my turtle. It could take an hour sometimes. Then I’d sleep.

Children, if they’re lucky, have few worries.  Adults pay the bills, feed them, clothe them, protect them, and get them to school.  Holidays are magical.  Sheets smell good.  All is right with the world.

I was a fortunate child that way.  But my daughter wasn’t quite as worry-free as she should have been. She was much older than her years.  I was a single mom and worked long hours. I stressed out a lot. Holidays put me over the edge, so they weren’t as magical as they could have been. Our conversations weren’t always carefree, like they should be between a parent and child. I explained way too many realities to her.   I remember, when she was about 5,  coming home from day care and she asked me how I would rather die, in a fire or be eaten by a shark? That was a typical conversation.

But we had Goodnight Moon, no matter what, every night.

This Valentine’s day my daughter will get a recording of me reading a book she knew as a child and she’ll think I’ve lost my mind.    She’ll wish she had the thirty bucks I spent on it instead, because her life is not an easy one.   I’ll wish I had the thirty bucks I spent on that book, because my life is not an easy one. My daughter is a hard-as-nails young woman. Many times she longs for a good night’s sleep. She’s weary of driving all over the world taking care of everyone but herself, and having little to show for it other than the fact that it’s a cool job and she meets fascinating people.  But there is no money for dentists, doctors, dinners out, new shoes, and sometimes rent. 

There’s still a child in both of us that has a need to feel comforted, secure, and loved.  There is a creative child that remembers her prize-winning valentine and wishes she could hear her Mother’s voice one more time. And there’s a solemn child that can still hear her mother read Goodnight Moon to her on Valentine’s Day. Maybe she’ll have a nice deep sleep with magical dreams on Valentine’s night.