When I was single I used to dread Valentine’s Day. Did I really need a national holiday to remind me that I was completely unattached?
It’s cruel. Oh yes, there is love all around. Love. Love. Love. Oh, but none for you.
All those red petals and baby’s breath delivered to the cubicle next to you. So darn close. Maybe I’ll scoot those roses over to my desk, just for a few minutes, since she’s off at lunch. I heard she was cheating on her boyfriend anyway. Oh, they smell sooo good. Crap. She’s coming back. Quick. Quick. Put the flowers back on her desk. My god, she’ll think I’m a crazy person.
The holiday wouldn’t be so depressing in the middle of let’s say… June. Sunny, warm, tank tops and flip flops June. But dreary February?
Of course, boyfriends along the way and my husband changed all that. I, too, could finally go out and pay for inflated price-fixed Valentine’s Day dinners. I suddenly had a dozen long stem roses on my desk and creamy, caloric Godiva chocolates tied with fat, crisp ribbon. And it felt sugary and sweet and nice.
But suddenly this year, it all feels ridiculously predictable. Stale. Manufactured.
Just not feeling the love for the holiday.
I love and adore my husband. But there is no denying that our first kiss is long gone. The frenetic energy and heady rush of new love has transformed into the warm buzz and constant chaos of our family unit.
Roses on February 14th feels like fresh love.
A bunch of gorgeous flowers from my favorite shop on some random day feels more like us. It feels like deep love, commitment, respect, laughter and a life intertwined. I’ll take it.
Oh wait, I want one more thing.
How about a rich, creamy nutella crepe.
And a fab BCBG top too.
And also 10 hours of straight sleep.
And maybe if Rick promised to never again eat chicken skin.
And a guarantee I’ll look as good as Tina Turner when I’m 68.
Did you see her perform at the Grammy’s? Wowie Zowie. Beyonce has nothing on her.
Yes, that’s about it. The perfect celebration of our eternal love. A little odd that chicken skin and Tina Turner would play a role. But love is a mystery, my friends.
By the way, I know many of you are anxiously waiting to see my LA Mac genius techno hero Wass, all tucked in and ready for bed. As I suspected, Wass is indeed a sleep sack maniac. He supplied the picture to prove it.
I knew there was a reason he and Dylan are such tight buds.
Last night, 3 year-old Dylan woke up in the middle of the night sobbing because she couldn’t scratch her tushee while wearing 1 year-old Summer’s sleep sack. I get it. Who wants an itchy butt?
The solution seems obvious, right? Ditch the sack. But no. I unzipped her, scratched her tush and then she demanded to be zipped back up.
Hmm… I wonder if Wass had the same issue last night.