The fact that New Year’s Eve and Valentine’s Day are so close together should be proof that our ancestors and Hallmark hate us. There are no two holidays that have higher expectations or more pathetic drinking stories associated with them. And they are six weeks apart in the dead of winter.
If you make it through New Year’s Eve unscathed, the universe is like HAHAHAHA wait until you forget to buy roses for your girlfriend — oh wait YOU DON’T HAVE A GIRLFRIEND.
Of course, I have a husband so I have a built-in Valentine. I also have two kids, some needy grandparents and no desire to stay up past 10 p.m. unless it’s to watch one more episode of Dexter.
Pre-kids, our first Valentine’s was to make pink pizza. Pizza being my favorite food. And pink being the color of St. Valentine’s face when he was told that there’s a holiday full of candy hearts that say TOTALLY RAD and expensive dinners in his honor.
I’m sure there was more to Scott’s and my first Valentine’s Day together but seeing red food coloring getting mushed into pizza dough scarred me for life.
I’m just not a puffy hearts kind of person. I’m a break-up-with-my-boyfriend kind of Valentine’s celebrator. Romance makes me awkward. More awkward.
I love candy, but Halloween is WAY better for that.
I rarely wear jewelry.
Fancy restaurants are full of food I don’t like.
Flowers die and then sit in the vase for another three weeks until I can’t pretend the smell is coming from my cat, and I lift up the slime-covered stems only to have dead petals follow me on the death march to a trash can nearest you.
I don’t eat chocolate unless I’m desperate. Which probably makes it the most appropriate Valentine’s day gift.
I hate romantic comedies. Last year, I picked the Valentine’s Day movie. I chose PS. I Love You. Let’s review the synopsis: Soulmates meet. One dies. And from the grave, spends a year getting the other one to move on.
Love you! Please don’t die!
The only thing Valentine’s Day offers me is my favorite color, red.
And I appreciate a good heart gif.
Okay, the last one’s a little creepy.
Even the preschool requested my son put his name on over two dozen cards. My four-year-old is not going to write his name twenty-four times in a row on a space smaller than an index card and not learn to hate the holiday. Of course, with me as a mom, his experience with Valentine’s Day may be less than stellar.
Anyway, I, of course, don’t want other moms to think my kid can’t write his name BECAUSE HE CAN. So he wrote E on every card. Because that’s his famous Internet name anyway. Scott considered making a stamp of his name. Like middle management has at every major cooperation to encourage pawning off work to the interns. I guess that makes Scott and I the interns of our home.
Anyway, we will celebrate Valentine’s Day. Scott’s on-call during our date, and we scheduled a second dental surgery for my son on the 14th. At least we’ve already amassed twenty-eight small Valentine’s Day cards, four pencils and a tub of playdough from preschool.
Now, we’ll just have to get through St. Patrick’s Day where everyone pretends to be a drunk leprechaun. I’ll plan for detached retinas, a splinter removal, and I’ll burn dinner. I wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
PS. If you want a depressing Valentine’s Day post that may make you cry, click here for my Richmondmom.com article: The Mom Who Wouldn’t Say I Love You