The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

I have always known that DJ is different from other kids.  And let me just say, I kind of despise using the word different to describe her.  I think that all too often, we hear “different,” and we think “wrong.”  There’s nothing wrong about her.  She’s truly an incredible kid – and I’m not just saying that because she’s mine.  In this case, different means really, really special – unique, amazing and better than I could have ever imagined.

DJ was born sensitive.  She has been a love-bug since the moment the doctor placed her on my chest.  She’s most content when she’s in the arms of someone she trusts.  She craves affection and closeness from those she is familiar with.  We practiced co-sleeping with DJ (in fact, she never slept a nap or night in her crib).  I have often wondered, guiltily, if we made her sensitive through our version of attachment parenting, or if we were subconsciously attune to her needs from really early on.  Had we ruined her?  And then, after obsessively worrying, I’d think, “Yet, she’s totally independent and confident once she’s comfortable with her surroundings.”  She’ll ask us to leave when she’s ready to be on her own, and she’ll push us out the door or ask for alone time when she’s done with us!  However,  because of her desire to be so intimately connected to others, she is, naturally, crushed when she feels rejected.

I have long known that the conventional methods of discipline don’t work with DJ.  Time outs, any sort of isolation, public reprimanding, a raised voice or even a hint of disappointment sends the poor bug into a total meltdown.  Not the kind of meltdown that occurs when a child feels remorse, but the kind of meltdown that screams “Don’t you still love me?”  It’s heartbreaking.  For a long, long time now – I have initiated “time-ins” with DJ.  When she’s really acting up, I will ask “Do you need a cuddle?” and we will retreat to a quiet corner, have a tight hug and talk through what’s bothering her, what behavior I expect of her, and how she can make the situation right again.  Inevitably, she apologizes without hesitation, and we move on – all with a strengthened sense of security in our bond.

I’m no super mom.  This process is exhausting, especially when all I really want is to sit DJ in her room, alone, so that I can steal a moment to myself.  It’s hard when I’m really mad because it’s challenging to temper my own emotions (Hey, I’m Italian, German and Irish…passionate is putting it nicely!).  It’s constant work to keep my reactions in check – always, always considering how my outbursts can affect my daughter.  However, ultimately, I know that if I stay calm, the end result will be a million times better than if I lose my cool. In the same ways I must control my disposition – so must I control my impulses to sneak up on and scare DJ, to attack her with a vicious game of tickle-monster, or to shout wildly  with excitement when something moves me.

While much of my parenting techniques with DJ were born from intuition (and of course, trial and error), I have been soaking up a book called “The Highly Sensitive Child” by Elaine N. Aron, Ph.D.  I am fortunate enough to be involved in a community of wise, candid and eager-to-share moms through DJ’s co-op Preschool.  One of the moms noticed that DJ’s personality (and my challenges) were so similar to that of her older daughter and herself.  She recommended that I read “The Highly Sensitive Child,” and I accessed Amazon from my cell phone right then and there and placed my order – shipping option, stat!  I was so excited to learn of a resource that described my daughter so perfectly.  An author who spoke my language, and finally some reassurance that I have been approaching discipline in a way that compliments my daughter’s needs.  Oh, and that DJ was born sensitive.  We didn’t create it.  I’m not even halfway through the book, but I am learning so much.  In fact, I am learning that I am also a Highly Sensitive Person.  Likely, the reason why I was able to recognize DJ’s differences so early on, and why parenting her with a little more tenderness just made sense to me.

I am learning that (and please forgive the comparison), much like dog breeds, there are all sorts of breeds of Highly Sensitive Children (HSC).  There are a dozen different variations of HSC’s, but that all HSC’s share some common characteristics….they are sensitive.  Sensitive to sounds, to textures, to change, to taste, to the feelings of others, the reactions of others, their environment.  In DJ’s case, she’s one of the rare HSC’s who is also incredibly daring and courageous (honestly, a really kick @$$ kid!), and can’t be described as an introvert.  Once she’s comfortable in a situation, and has done her fair share of evaluating and watching, she’s ready to take on the world!  To compliment her courageous personality, she is incredibly empathetic and is always the first to comfort a child crying on the playground.  She’s sassy and sweet, so sweet.  DJ connects deeply with animals, and asks a million questions about what they, or people, are thinking and feeling.  She’s already showing signs of being artistic, and is incredibly thoughtful and communicative about her feelings.  She’s drawn to the stories of others, and is genuinely interested in how relationships work.  These are all typical behaviors of HSC’s.

The reason why I wanted to write about this is twofold.  It’s partly because I want other parents who can relate to know they’re not alone. There’s a name for what might seem like a particularly dependent, shy or overly sensitive child.  The other motivation for writing about this is probably my biggest reason….and that’s to remind parents that no one knows your child better than you do.  Over the past 2 1/2 years, well-intended people have been full of advice about how I should approach DJ.  In moments of weakness and self-doubt, I have tried to implement their techniques (which, likely work for the other 80% of children), only to cause her further distress.  However, when I listen to my gut and take what others might perceive as a softer, even more passive approach, DJ inevitably responds favorably.  And while there is absolutely nothing wrong with seeking the advice from others, and even accepting their unsolicited advice, be sure to always view that advice through the filter of your own parenting prowess.

Celebrate your children, especially in the ways in which they appear different.  It’s these very differences that, when fostered, will be exactly what propels your children into greatness.  There is a great line in the beginning of “The Highly Sensitive Child,” that reads, “If you want to have an extraordinary child, you must be willing to have an extraordinary child.”  This means that you must embrace the work involved with learning what your child’s special needs are, learning how to behave in a way that compliments their needs, and adapting your own inherent qualities so that they build up, and not destroy, your child’s unique qualities.  This parenting stuff is hard work, but that’s what makes it so rewarding.  When you see your child begin to thrive because you have taken the time to learn about them, there’s no greater feeling – no greater source of intimacy, or stronger foundation for bonding.

If you want to learn more about HSC’s, here’s a great link: http://www.hsperson.com/pages/child.htm

When I was in high school, a friend of mine had a baby.  It must have been our freshman year, because I can remember her telling me the news as we rode the bus toward the Hillsdale Shopping Center.  Now, I’m sure you can imagine where a girl’s priorities are when she’s a young 15 years old, and while I was excited (ok, more like terrified) for my friend, I wasn’t exactly tuning into her journey to see what pearls of wisdom I could glean.

However, a few years after her son was born, I specifically remember taking note of my very first parenting tip: Let your kid be himself.  You see, while the majority of my girlfriends and I were still calling each other every morning to see what the others were wearing to school that day (afraid of being the different one), my teen-mom friend was already allowing her son’s sense of independence to blossom – free from the pressure of what everyone else was doing or thinking.

That little boy went through two phases that I can recall clearly, 1) wearing cowboy boots and a cape wherever he went, and 2) wearing nothing but soccer jerseys to cover his upper half.  I remember accompanying my friend to a thrift shop one afternoon so that she could stockpile soccer jerseys for her son.  Her theory was that if he was going to wear the same thing every day, he should at least be clean.  As I shrunk back a little, afraid of someone seeing me in a thrift shop, I remember thinking “Wow, that is so cool.  Someday, I will be this cool of a mom. I will never care what others think of how my kid dresses.”

And then, this happened:

DJ has blossomed her own sense of independence, and style.  On the one hand, it is totally awesome not to have to dress her anymore.  There’s such freedom that comes along with being able to send DJ off into her room, only to have her emerge (sans tantrum) minutes later, dressed and ready to go.  It’s so nice not to start each day with an argument, but rather with a fashion statement instead.

The Saturday that she stepped out of her bedroom in the ensemble pictured above, my husband looked at me and asked, “Is she really going to wear that out?”  Since he, for the most part, doesn’t see DJ until she’s in her jammies at night, this was new territory for him.  And, while I had been explaining the budding artiste within our daughter, he wasn’t quite prepared for the reality of the situation.  “She looks like Punky Brewster,” he whispered to me while quickly turning to DJ and praising her for doing “such a good job” at getting dressed.  “Yep, and yep.”  Yep, she’s really going out like that, and yep, she definitely looks like Punky Brewster.

Here’s the thing with Punky Brewster, though…..she was a happy kid.  If you’re in my generation, you remember the show fondly.  The eccentric girl, played by Soleil Moonfrye, was known for dressing in polka dots and stripes.  As an adult, I have read Soleil’s book titled “Happy Chaos,” in which she talks about life growing up and raising kids of her own now.  Little do most know, Punky and Soleil were extremely similar – and guess what?  Soleil was a happy, happy kid – both playing a quirky character, and living real life as one.  Her parents allowed her a ton of freedom to self-express.

I want my kid to be that happy.  Authentically happy.

So, was my friend wise beyond her years at just 16 years old?  While it would be nice to think so, I am inclined to believe her tolerance for the unconventional was a result of actually not knowing any better.  She hadn’t yet been tainted by the pressure of social norms.  She wasn’t influenced by Mother’s Clubs.  She had never sat in a circle on the floor of a Toddlers and Tunes music class, silently comparing outfits and parenting techniques to those of other moms.  She was still a kid herself, and safety-pinning a shower towel on her kid’s back to serve as a cape seemed like a perfectly fine thing to do – and she was right.

By her example 18 years ago, I am trying to remember that it doesn’t matter what people think as they take inventory of my kid’s appearance.  I am trying to curb my habit of announcing, “She dressed herself,” each time I encounter someone’s head to toe gaze.  I am trying not to make DJ’s channeling of Punky Brewster about me, because really, it’s about her.  It’s about her developing sense of self.

At the end of the day, what’s important to me is that DJ learns that tags go in the back, seams go on the inside, and for the most part, zippers go in the front.  It doesn’t matter if she pairs polka dots with stripes with animal print.  What matters to me is that when she emerges from her room, beaming with pride and asks, “Me look pretty, mommy?” my answer (and body language) always reflect a confident “YES!”  I never want “pretty” to be conditional.  I never want to say, “Yes, you look pretty, but let’s change your sweatshirt and lose the rain boots.”  Pretty should always be just as she is, just as she chooses, just as she sees it.

We only have one chance to get this stuff right.  A young child’s confidence can be stripped away in a matter of seconds, and the rest of their life can be spent battling feelings of insecurity and inferiority.  My friend, at 16 years old, knew what Punky Brewster knew – and that’s that childhood should be fun and magical and a compilation of really silly outfits.

(And seriously, when she’s not mixing as many patterns as possible, DJ is now into layering. Today, she wore a tank top under a long-sleeved shirt, under a dress – all over aqua blue cords and her rain boots).

(Happy Valentine’s Day to my poor husband, who will likely be mortified by this post).

So, here’s the deal. I’m 33 weeks pregnant, and complaining a lot…like, a lot a lot.  I can’t sleep. I can’t tie my shoes. I can’t unload groceries without huffing and puffing, and I certainly can’t fold a load of laundry without noticing pain in my hands.  My doctor is now telling me that I can’t even carry my toddler around as I’m being monitored for high blood pressure.  I feel like a total loser. A great big, puffy one.

Which leads me to this post.  My tell-all entry about being pregnant.  For me.  My pregnancy, uncensored.  I decided to write this because misery loves company….wait, no, that’s not why.  I decided to write this because, in response to being asked how I was doing the other day,  I heard myself telling my neighbors, “While I adore nothing more than being a mom (which is totally and completely true), I do not enjoy being pregnant.”  I realized that I kind of cringed after that truth came spilling out of my mouth, and ever since, have been obsessing over what they must think of me. – The ol’ curmudgeon across the street who doesn’t recognize a miracle when it’s growing right inside of her.  Surely, there are other women out there who can relate, right?

Let me assure you, I do appreciate the miracle.  Honestly.  Like I said, I love being a mom.  It’s a role that I truly believe I was created for.  When people say it’s not the destination, but the journey – I say BARF.  And, I say, that doesn’t apply to pregnancy.  For me.  In my world, the destination of motherhood is hatching babies right outta my body….celebrating like hell when the 40 week journey comes to an end.  In fact, when I was pregnant with DJ, I had an OBGYN tell me that I “wasn’t good at being pregnant.”  Back then, in the midst of my 36th week of hormonal and ballooning bliss, I was devastated.  Today, I’d probably buy her a drink for being so spot-on with her honesty.  I just wish she would have padded that truth with, “…and that’s OK.  You’ll still be a wonderful mother.”

And I am.

Anyhow, I thought I’d share some totally uncensored (which means I didn’t use filters to make things pretty) documentation on where things currently stand with my body.  Anyone who knows me, knows that I find my humor in self deprecation – and my very identity in my insecurities.  So, posting photos of my seemingly flawed figure is a big, big deal for me.  Do I want a little credit for being so brave?  You betcha.  Do I want this post to give other women some freedom?  Um, yeah, that’s why I’m taking this bold step.

Without further adieu….

Filter (Me, but totally not real life.  This is the lens that I often try to spin on my entire pregnancy for fear of judgment should I tell the truth):

Now, no filter (REAL, no makeup) – and EXHIBIT ONE - Bags under my eyes:
From lack of sleep, and lack of energy to use concealer.  Terrifying.

Why can’t I sleep?  Because my hips and lower back are hosting an inferno, my groin feels like the stretched rubber band part of loaded slingshot, and my pubic bone feels like the San Andreas Fault – splitting, slowly.

EXHIBIT TWO – Pregnancy Mask:
Areas of darkened skin, commonly called the “pregnancy mask.” My already sun-damaged skin is taking full advantage of this pregnancy-induced novelty.  For those of you concerned, don’t be.  I have these spots checked regularly, and while super ugly – they’re harmless.  Pregnancy just “enhances” them.  Lucky me.

EXHIBIT THREE – Darkened Areolas:
My breasts.  Ok, ok – so the photos below aren’t actually my breasts, but they’re pretty close to the real thing.  I think my husband was being really generous when he referred to “them” as Ginger Snaps.  Ginger snaps?  I’d take that shade of brown.  More accurately, I’d call them chocolate-coated puppy dog ears – Dark, droopy and as pathetic as the look on this Basset Hound’s sweet face.

EXHIBIT FOUR – The “Popped” Belly Button:
Because this hot mess is located smack in the center of my protruding belly, I trust that it’s my belly button (Good news: No stretch marks).  My belly button never popped with DJ, so this has been a fun focal point in our household as of late (And by fun, I mean somewhat humiliating).

EXHIBIT FIVE – Swelling and Carpal Tunnel Syndrome:
Hands. Notice there is no wedding ring on the left hand?  Yeah, had to take that off a few weeks ago.  Doctor’s orders, actually.  “You should probably take that off before you can’t take that off.”  It’s kind of a big blow to the ego when you can’t even qualify for a hand-modeling career.

The swelling, along with fluid retention, is also bringing on a mean case of pregnancy-induced carpal tunnel syndrome.  YAY!

EXHIBIT SIX – Cellulite and PUPPP (Pruritic Urticarial Papules and Plaques of Pregnancy):
Who basted my thighs in Swiss cheese?  Hello world – this is my cellulite.  It’s gorgeous, yeah?  Horrifying. Why is there a cellulite increase during pregnancy?  Basically, cellulite is a build up of fat deposits. When you gain weight (as every woman does during pregnancy), the fat cells under your skin become bigger and create the orange peel look on your body.

The itchy, red, raised eruptions of pimply skin (PUPPP) just adds texture to the already raised-relief map of my body (and don’t let the use of the word “relief” fool you).

EXHIBIT SEVEN – Swollen, Neglected Feet:
Little piggies in desperate need of a pedicure.  Only I don’t have time.  Because I have a two year old who senses change is coming and cannot be without me for more than five minutes. I should paint them myself, you say?  Yeah, of course I should – but I can’t.  I can’t bend over to reach them.  Thank you.  Which is a travesty since I am getting to the point where flip-flops are becoming my only option.

And the swelling?  Like in my hands, it’s call Edema — that’s when excess fluid collects in your tissue. It’s normal to have a certain amount of swelling during pregnancy because you’re retaining more water.

EXHIBIT EIGHT – Hives:
Unfortunately, I already deleted the photographic evidence of this lovely pregnancy-induced phenomenon.  So, sorry, nothing gnarly to look at for this one.

Pregnancy hives are caused by the incredible amount of change your body is undergoing throughout your pregnancy. Basically, your body may perceive these changes as unknown and foreign, causing your immune system to release large amounts of histamine into your blood in hopes of correcting whatever is going on. This histamine release causes hives to appear.  So, so pretty and comfortable.

IN CONCLUSION:
Now, those of you who know me know that I always try really hard to find a silver lining.  And, considering the disturbing photos above, you might think it impossible to find the good through all of the ugly – but here it is.  These are war wounds.  While not exactly pretty, they tell a beautiful story.  A story of life, of unconditional love, of regretless sacrifice, and of the power in being included in a miracle much greater than we can comprehend.

While admitting to moments of misery, and the deep, deep desperation to reach my due date, I don’t take the responsibility of child-bearing lightly.  I do realize that all of these physical changes are nothing short of extraordinary.  The fact that the female body is able to absorb all of these changes, only to later “bounce back,” is a miracle in and of itself.  We are fantastic creatures – heroic, strong, and able.

However, Ladies, it’s OK to find the nausea (which I didn’t picture above – you’re welcome), the exhaustion, the skin changes, swelling, discomfort, etc. totally annoying. It’s OK to admit that the pregnancy itself isn’t your favorite part of the journey.  Admitting those things doesn’t negate your awareness of the wonder happening within you.  It doesn’t mean that you don’t love your children with your entire being.  It doesn’t mean you’ll harbor resentment toward your kids.  It doesn’t mean you’ll be a bad mom.  And, it certainly doesn’t mean that you lack an appreciation for the process.  Don’t let anyone tell you to “just be thankful.”  You are, undoubtedly, basking in gratitude for the blessing.  You’re just doing so authentically.

And, if you’re one of those rare women who never experience a single pregnancy symptom, and just love being pregnant – then you should have like 12 babies!  You are amazing, and I envy your experience.

With all that said, here’s the ultimate truth. No matter which way you slice it – pregnancy is, without a doubt:

(Disclaimer: this is kind of a rant, completely lacking funny).

I saw a horrific story on the news last week.  So horrific, in fact, that I can’t even bring these swollen fingers (at 32 weeks pregnant, what’s not swollen?) to type the details.  Let’s just say, a Third Grade teacher in Los Angeles was arrested for having his students pose for some unthinkable photos.  As if that wasn’t disgusting enough, allegedly, the photos were turned over to authorities by the photo developing lab, and the administration at this school was notified – but no parents were ever notified.  This happened a year ago.  A YEAR AGO?  This has been kept under wraps for a year?  Obviously, the parents at this school are demanding an explanation.  How on earth could news this devastating, regarding their children, surface one year ago without any notice to them?  Ugh, the pit in my stomach keeps growing.

I have jokingly mentioned home schooling to my husband a handful of times since giving birth to DJ.  Most of those mentions have happened within the past six months.  Now that DJ is in nursery school (albeit, a co-op, so I’m always there with her), I am much more sensitive to stories about teachers molesting (yes, molesting – I am tired of the candy-coated term “lewd acts”) their students, etc.  I have said, on more than one occasion, that I will be that mom who serves as room-mom, yard-duty, teacher’s aid, chaperone, driver, etc. every single chance that I get.  My daughters will hate me for smothering them – but at least I’ll know they’re safe.   And contrary to how it might sound, I actually don’t plan on being overprotective – I plan on being involved.

Now, even though I threaten home-schooling during my episodes of distrust and lack of confidence in human decency, it’s only a threat.  I know that I’m not at all cut out to be a home-schooler.  While I have great respect for those who are, it makes me appreciate the good teachers all the more.  And there are good teachers.  There are still teachers out there who are changing children’s lives for the better.  There are still educators and influencers out there who impact our kids’ confidence, development, and intellect – and when we find them, we must abundantly express our gratitude for their investment in the lives of our precious children.  They are our greatest partners in parenting.

DJ has a favorite teacher.  It’s her My Gym teacher.  I’m not sure how or why it all started – but the two have developed an inexplicable bond.  “Teacher Stephie” has become a household name, and DJ often asks me where she is, how she is, and makes reference to her long hair quite frequently!  For several months now, I have watched their relationship deepen, and I have finally realized that Teacher Stephie is DJ’s first mentor.  As a mom, this is a beautiful and powerful thing to see.  Watching your child cultivate adoration for someone outside of the family (whom you trust) is pretty remarkable.  Seeing your child’s adoration reciprocated is an overwhelming feeling….”Wow, someone sees how special my child is – and they’re willing to invest their time into her life.”

Last week, we had our first play date outside of My Gym with Teacher Stephie.  You would have thought DJ won the lottery – and for all intents and purposes, she did.  In her eyes, one-on-one time with this special teacher, was as good as it gets.  Teacher Stephie was so gracious.  She was so genuinely excited to be spending her morning with DJ.  She even rode in the backseat with DJ as we ventured off to the Coyote Point Museum.  It was so sweet to see Teacher’s Stephie’s vested interest in my child play out in such a genuine way.  The way I see it, this young and remarkable girl will always have a place in our family.

I know that even though we are fortunate to have teachers in DJ’s life right now who are incredible – there will come a day when we butt heads with one who is not so great.  I can still remember my sixth grade Science teacher.  He was awful to me – and I still don’t know why.  He used to make humiliating fat jokes (I was only mildly chubby) about me in front of other students, and he’d seemingly prey on my sensitive nature.  He was an adult bully, and I began to hate Science because of him.  His message to me was powerful, “Chubby girls who cry aren’t liked.”

The good news is, I also had a favorite English teacher at the same time in my life.  She was my Teacher Stephie.  We had a strong bond, one that I still treasure decades later.  She often came to my defense, and on the really awful days, she’d walk me to a quite corner of the hallway, give me a tender hug and wipe away my tears.  On more than one occasion, she’d march me right into the Principal’s office to share my story – though she’d never leave my side.  She’d sit quietly while I told the principal what had been said to crush my already low self- esteem.  I can’t recall if my parents were informed, but they certainly should have been.  And my English teacher should have been applauded.

Good teachers do exist.  And they are powerful.  They leave their handprints on our hearts forever, really.

So, what do we do, as parents, when we come across adults in authority whom we don’t trust, whom we get an unsettling feeling from?  We listen to our kids, and we listen to our instincts.  When I was very, very young, I had a babysitter who was AWFUL.  Despite the fact that she came highly recommended and had a very successful daycare run from her home – she despised me.  She treated me much differently than the other kids.  I don’t care to go into the details, but my mom listened to me.  Listened to my cues.  She took notice of my daily hysterics while on the way to this woman’s home.  Not only did she notice my behavior, but my mom took action.  Turns out this woman was later arrested and lost her childcare license.

My mom worked a lot of hours back then, and you can believe that searching for a new daycare just about killed her – but, I was more important than her own convenience.  I was more important than her getting written up at work for coming in late another morning.  I was more important that her willingness to settle for second best when it came to whom she entrusted me with.

That’s how we all need to be – concerned first and foremost with the messages that our children relay to us.  Just because someone is put in charge of a classroom, has their name up on the chalkboard, hands out assignments and grades our children’s tests….their authority absolutely doesn’t trump our own.  Their credentials might make them experts in their field – but we will always be the experts on our children.  We need to remember that.

As a side note, I also think that if potential employers can use things like Facebook to better piece together our values and interests, than we should absolutely feel free to do the same as parents. I am Facebook friends with all of DJ’s teachers – and while I haven’t stalked them (really, I haven’t) – I have certainly paid attention to how they represent themselves, what their friends say about them, and what they seem to stand for.  I don’t think that, as parents, we should feel sorry for one minute about asking questions, pressing for information or taking the extra step to get to know our children’s teachers/caregivers on a more personal level.

So, yeah, while some LA teacher hopefully rots away in a jail cell – there are a million other teachers whose heroic acts go unnoticed every day.  Lets use our energy to seek those teachers out – to thank them, praise them, invest in them – and for goodness sake, buy them a box of supplies!

Once upon a time, in the kingdom of Kansas City, lived a greedy king. King Hallmark was a mighty monarch who ruled his land with excessive taxation and inflation of goods, pushing many of his people into poverty.

One day, the king decided that he wanted more treasure. He had taxed the people to the limits he knew; so he came up with another idea to extract waht little was left from the citizens of Kansas City.

He summoned his chief scribe to his palace.

“We will be having a new feast day, peasant, and you will have specific duties to perform.”

The little man twitched with his feather quill, “Whatever you deem, sire.”

“You and your fellow scribes must write out parchments with sappy love sayings and pithy phrases. We will then sell them to the villagers at 5 gold pieces each.” the king said.

“But, but, but, sire… Yesterday my writings only cost a pence, who will play such a price for my nonsense on this day?”

“I do not pay you to think! Just do as you are ordered!” The king roared.

As the scribe hurried off, the king summoned his chief gardener.

“Gardener, for my new feast day, you will sell your flowers at market. You will fetch 80 gold pieces for a dozen of your most mediocre roses,” the king ordered.

“Sire, are you certain of this decree? My flowers only fetched 9.99 gold peices yesterday, who will pay such a mark-up?” the gardener asked, his shears shaking.

“Be gone with you, Sir FTD!”

FTD hurried away.

Next, the king called for his chief cook. She hobbled in front of him shaking at his wrath.

“Cook, you will prepare confections for peasants. I want you to then place the confections into a golden box and sell them at market for 100 gold pieces.”

Not wanting to question the orders of the king, the cook replied, “What would you like these confections to be called, Your Highness?”

The king regarded her for a moment, and replied, “You shall name them after my crazy sister-in-law, Lady Godiva. Now, be gone with you.’

The cook scrambled away to her kitchen.

“Now that I have the market prepared for this feast, I will need my chief sorcerer to come before me.” the king reflected.

Moments later, the sorcerer appeared before the king in a cloud of blue smoke. “You summoned me, sire?”

“Yes, I need you to cast a spell over the entire kingdom. For on this one day in February, I wish for the ladies to become hyper-sensitive, nagging wenches. For the gentlemen, you must blanket them in a shroud of guilt, so that they release their satchel strings freely, just to get the wailing to stop. Are you up for such a task, sorcerer?”

“Indeed, sire. It shall be done.”

The next day, the king and the sorcerer watched the activity at the marketplace. Paupers, tradesman and noblemen all rushed the merchants,t throwing gold pieces at them like rain. Sir Zale the blacksmith was overwhelmed with orders. Sir Ty the toymaker could not believe that grown men were buying his wares. Even the seamstress Victoria was inundated with requests for petitions and corsets.

The sorcerer exclaimed, “Oh, Your Majesty, what a wonder lies before us My magic is not so powerful as to create all of this spending madness. However were you able to dictate love and romance by just the sun dial?”

King Hallmark smiled sheepishly, as he regarded his over-flowing treasure chest.

“Why Magician, don’t you know anything is possible when you wear the Gold Crown?”

The End.