The Time of “I Don’t Wanna”

Photo: This year, I’m learning applique. I was at my favorite fabric store today  (followed by pretty yummy Thai) to pick up fabric and embroidery thread/floss to replicate this piece that my sister did for me back in ’16. I call her Our Lady of Smiting and I give her a kiss whenever I go down my stairs. She protects me and my house and my boys. She has been a fierce protector of us since He Who Will Not Be Named took office. I think she’ll be beautiful in fabric and color. I’ll put up pictures as I make progress.


It’s February and I don’t wanna.

I don’t wanna make Valentines for school. Can we start with that? The Husband comes to bed last night, looks at his phone and then looks at me. Out of his mouth comes, “so, what’s going on with class Valentines?”

What’s going on with class Valentines? Nothing. Nothing is going on with class Valentines. Doesn’t anyone know that it’s Black History Month? Can we acknowledge that first before going into hearts and shit?

“But there are parties next week. The boys should go in with something,” my husband says.

Ought to go in with something? Ought to go in with something? Can’t I enjoy a little Black History Month? Can’t I read a little Langston Hughes? 

“So, like… do you want me to pick up some class sets or something?”

“I feel like the boys are old enough to manage their own damn Valentines, don’t you think?” I said.

He shook his head. “Nope. Probably not.”

Nope. Probably not. Dammit! When are they old enough to manage their own damn Valentines? 

Notice that he wasn’t jumping to manage things. “Why don’t you go get Valentines?”

“It’s Pinewood Derby weekend, so…”

Uh huh. Husbands suck.

I know that I shouldn’t hate Valentine’s Day, but I do. It’s one more thing to manage, one more candy explosion for the boys (ya’ll, why?), one more Mom obligation at school… I don’t know why it raises my blood pressure, but it does. It always takes me by surprise, too. Christmas just ended. Ursa Major’s birthday just ended. Why another thing? I can’t do another thing right now! I need to be coaxing Ursa Major to write his thank you notes from his party, but instead I’m going to have to get him to write 20-some-odd names on little cards with hearts. There is also the thing of like, why are we doing this? My kid doesn’t love your kid. My kid doesn’t think your kid is cute. My kid doesn’t think your kid is Paw-riffic or Spideriffic or whatever. I don’t know why we do this. My kid barely knows who your kid is.

I own a laminating machine… (yes, you should judge me for that. It’s a ridiculous thing to have.) I guess I could make bookmarks or something. Lordy.

Maybe I’ll make little bookmarks with a Langston Hughes poem (or at least a quote) on the back??

Oooooo, that’s not a bad idea. Sweet in the front, rebellion in the back. Bwahahahahahaha. Suburbanites won’t even know what to do. It’s just so perfect.

I think I’m going to do it, Dear Reader. I’m gonna usurp their little holiday with some glorious Black History! Mwahahahaha!


I don’t really feel like doing anything.

It’s February and I don’t want to do anything. I want to curl up in my bed and read until it gets warmer. I don’t even want to write (which is a problem, because my new writing group with my Grub Street classmates meets for the first time on Friday and I’m hosting a digital write-in tonight).

Skipping through my Langston Hughes poetry book isn’t a horrible use of my time tonight. It wouldn’t be so hard… I can manage that… right? Right.

Dear Reader, what mood are you in right now? I hope it’s better than mine. It’s hard to stay motivated when the sunshine is scare and the warm weather is far away yet. February break looms, ice is in the forecast tonight… We had 2 nice days yesterday and I soaked up as much I could, but it’s never enough. I don’t know where the inspiration is going to come from, but I’d better find it quick.

Bookmark design is a good motivator. I think. Perhaps I’ll have something to show for it on Friday.


Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.