Valentine Card Bomb

I'm prepping right now to start my annual Valentine Card Bomb.  Basically I make one card for Adam for each day leading up to Valentine's day in February, so he gets 14 cards.

A few years ago, I thought Thad would be really blessed by the same thing, so I started doing it for him, too.  That's 14 more cards.  That's 28 cards.

Then last year, Elliott was learning how to read, and I thought that he would probably like to be included, too, so I figured, what the heck?  I added him.  He gets 14 cards.  That's 42 cards.

I've been asked to make 10 greeter name tags for the women's ministry at my church.  Oh, and could I please have them finished by the first week in February?  That brings the paper crafting item count up to 52.

So, if I develop a tick in my neck, and if you try to hand me a piece of paper over the next few days, and if, in response, I start twitching uncontrollably and stab the paper with a stake and start backing away from you while holding out a huge cross and some garlic, don't take it personally.  It's simply that I've forgotten what the world beyond my desk looks like, and I can no longer tell the difference between paper friend and paper foe.

Some people might simply suggest that I stop making everything so hard on myself.  Don't make that many cards.  Don't volunteer to make more things right before you have to make that many cards.

As to the cards, I don't know that I really have to explain that much.  My family is amazing.  The other day, it got a bit colder out, and Elliott said, "Mom, I want to wear ALL of my warm things."

You can just guess, I bet, who knit all of this stuff.  Not only does his little body stay warm, but stuff like this makes my heart warm and also makes me do crazy things like make these people 42 cards for Valentines Day.

As to the limit on extra volunteering at times like this?  I'll take it under advisement.  If you understand that by "I'll take it under advisement" I really mean, "I'll realize that this is wisdom I should pay attention to, but I'm actually going to go ahead and shove that common sense voice way into the back of my mind, where it belongs, and let the blue-painted-screaming-warrior-crazy-me take over as I moon my responsibilities, then charge forward without armor swinging a great, huge slide cutter while crying out, 'THEY MAY TAKE MY LIFE, BUT THEY'LL NEVER TAKE MY FREEDOM!'"

I fully expect no sympathy.  But in the tradition of all crazy, butt-baring, blue-painted warriors, I also fully expect victory.  Fortune favors the bold and all of that.  This is just the way I do things.

I feel the crazy grin forming now.