It happens the same way almost every year. I notice Valentine’s Day on the calendar, I roll my eyes, I think to myself, what a stupid holiday and then about one week prior to the countdown, I start to quietly obsess about making the perfect craft, the perfect dessert and of course, what to get the hubby.
One might think by now, I should have it together. I mean, I have been married for almost nine years, and have been a mother to our son for over 7.5 of those years. Valentine’s Day should be easy – but alas, the perfectionist in me (however subdued she is by her second pregnancy) cries out – you don’t want to be a lousy wife and certainly not a lousy mother, you must perform a Valentine’s Day miracle.
As though the taste of a dessert or making the perfect card for my son will guarantee a therapy free couch for my family. I recognize the ridiculousness of it all and yet I am still carried away with this idea of making Valentine’s Day special.
I remember being single in my mid-twenties and seeing couples holding hands on Valentine’s Day. Strolling the streets of Santa Barbara, gazing into each others eyes, I can recall an overwhelming desire to throw eggs at those poor unsuspecting lovers. Valentine’s Day, back then anyways, was a day created to make single people feel like dirt – and it worked, mission accomplished, I felt loathsome.
Today, Valentine’s Day for me is an excuse to spend money, eat a nice dinner and get some alone time with my hubby. For him, I’m guessing he looks forward to the holiday because he is guaranteed sex. I mean, let’s be real, if we can accomplish that, there is very little else I have to do.
Yesterday, I received a text from Garrett, notifying me he had booked a prenatal massage. This message of course serves two purposes. One, is to notify me so that I can plan my day. Two, it serves as a reminder that he has fulfilled his husbandly duties – therefore, I too must take action.
Garrett has always been more romantic than I. He loves to cuddle, he will stare lovingly into my eyes, he always holds my hand when we walk, honestly, he is a dream. I on the other hand, am rather cynical. I don’t love long cuddles. I have to ask if he has washed his hands recently, before holding hands and it takes every last nerve not to roll my eyes when he lovingly wants to connect face to face. Maybe it’s the Miami girl in me, or perhaps I have just been blessed with enough cynicism to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. Regardless, we must always meet in the middle and it is with this thought I begin to plan my next move for this overrated holiday.
A slight hint of panic starts to set in. What should I get Garrett? He is rarely enthusiastic about anything, so whatever I get, I won’t be expecting a standing ovation nor applause. I take a deep breath and realize I’m pretty lucky. My man is simple, he doesn’t want much, but he needs to feel loved and appreciated, as everyone should. So I decide, babysitter or no babysitter we will go out for a nice dinner, I will bake his favorite dessert, strawberry cake and pretend to feign interest in yet another action movie. This girls got it covered.
Now for the kid. You would think a 7 year old boy would be easy. However, having been the only child thus far, he has led a somewhat spoiled life. Though he is perfectly happy with gifts from CVS and Ross (after all, he is his mother’s child) he expects all day to be about Valentine’s Day. “Mom can I watch t.v., it’s Valentine’s Day” “Mom can I have pink pancakes, it’s Valentine’s Day” I suppose my words of wisdom to new moms is: don’t be afraid to set a very average bar for holiday celebrations. The problem with setting the bar too high is, if you don’t meet those expectations annually, disappointment is sure to be a topic at the dinner table.
So it’s with this knowledge that I know what it is I must do for the little guy. Buy a small CVS stuffed animal with candy, purchase a cute card, perhaps a few candy hearts and make pink pancakes in the morning and I shall once again reign as the Valentine’s Day queen – at least for one more year.
Now, it’s time to start baking for these boys. It will be the last year I have the boys to myself before our daughter joins our family. It is with this last thought that I take a deep breath and try to cherish the craziness of it all, I try to laugh off the pressure I put on myself and attempt to focus on the love that is our little family unit.
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