In the past two weeks, when I’ve realized Valentine’s Day is coming up, I’ve thought, “Ugh. Valentine’s Day.”
Which is crazy because I have a lovely Valentine and I love him so much.
But still: Ugh. Valentine’s Day.
I’m just feeling very … not in the mood. Not for that (although that holds true). But for doing any kind of gesture above getting through our basic day-to-day life.
Weeks and weeks of illness have broken me. On top of the norovirus and various colds and Sam’s insane strep episode, the baby was sent home today with a fever. And, oh, she also has ringworm.
Barf. (But not really barf as we’ve thrown up enough this winter.)
I don’t have it in me to do a big, kind gesture to my wonderful husband. And that makes me feel bad.
Ugh. Valentine’s Day.
As for my gift, Nat said he would alternate only wearing two pants throughout the week from now on in order to cut down on the amount of laundry in the house. (It should be noted, he was only joking, as he also got me some beautiful flowers. Although I think in some sick way I appreciate the pants plan more?)
And for that (and, of course, the flowers) I will find some energy to make him some steak tomorrow.
Actually, let me revise that sentence. What will happen is: I will buy some steak, start to prepare it, get distracted by the kids and then Nat will step in and finish it up (as what always happens when I try to make dinner).
I am very romantic and a totally competent, thoughtful wife!
But now that I’ve written this and know that this [THIS] is okay and our life, maybe I feel a little bit more like “Ah, Valentine’s Day” than “Ugh, Valentine’s Day.”
(But only a little bit. It’s still kind of stupid holiday, no matter what.)