To sum it up in three little words: thank you notes.

My God.  Who knew that writing ten thank you notes could take three hours?  The whining, the crying, the begging, the pleading, the wheeling and dealing … and that was me!  You should have seen him … or maybe you have, if you have your very own 7 year-old at home.  Right now, as I type, he has his forehead down on the table and he’s (I’m not kidding) moaning.  For maximum effect: it’s because I told him he had to write the recipient’s name on the outside of the envelope.

In truth, I’m not big on thank you cards, especially if the giver is standing right in front of you when you open the gift.  Christmas, for instance, flashes by with hugs and smiles and laughter and – for out of town grandparents – a gracious phone call acknowledging the gift and, hopefully, saying something cute that Grandma can repeat to her friends.  But for birthdays when parents have to go out on a Saturday to some god-forsaken kid party hellhole and hang around with other parents they don’t know when they could be reading a book in a backyard lounge chair and talking to a spouse they haven’t seen all week and (presumably) actually like?  That deserves a modicum of social propriety … a card on which you write three simple sentences and a salutation.  Is that too much to ask?

Apparently.  After an hour of verbal wrangling that is going to have me pouring a glass of wine just moments after bedtime tonight, I finally wrote a short script that he could COPY, merely filling in TWO blank words: a name and a noun describing the gift.

“Dear (blank), Thank you for coming to my party.  I really like the (blank) you gave me.  See you soon!  Love, Liam”

You’ve heard the one about leading a horse to water?  Well, two hours (and four thank you cards) later, I found myself so frustrated by the terrorist sitting at my dining room table that I told him if the notes weren’t done by dinner, he was not going to have a party next year and that anyone who didn’t receive a note written by his grimy little hand was going to be prohibited from buying him so much as a card to mark that occasion.

Brinksmanship has its rewards.  He was done in 20 minutes.

Then, when tears were dried (all around) and we were smiling again, I helped him stuff the cards in envelopes and read one that he had written before I handed him the script:

“Dear Smiths, You are a great family.  I like the Amazon gift card and the book and you.  Love, Liam”

Oh!  So that was what was taking so long … he was writing something thoughtful! So, as we sometimes have the opportunity to say around here, “Cue the music!  It’s time to accept my award for Mother of the Year…”