So ... tomorrow.
It's, like ... Valentine's Day.
Pretty much the only reason I know this is because I have had to purchase, and oversee the painfully slow labeling of, mass quantities of Valentines to hand out in my sons' classrooms. Plus take a random shoebox Colin brought home and try to turn it into a lovely Valentine receptacle. Thank goodness Curtis took over that task while I was at Zumba last night, which is why it has Transformers stickers all over it. But hey. Nothing says love and romance like robots or whatever the hell those things are.
This time of year has the mommy-guilt kicking in big time because I look at Pinterest, and my own Facebook feed, and see all these cute and creative handmade projects everybody's doing for their kids' Valentines and I'm all, "What? You mean I have to buy TWO packages of Spongebob Squarepants Valentines?" Much like the weird feelings I get about Elf on the Shelf, I feel all inwardly inadequate as a parent when it seems like everybody but me is going the extra mile. Like I'm missing the crafty gene or something. It's just that when I try to make stuff, creative stuff, for my kids ... it doesn't seem to go that well. Remember when I attempted those Moose and Zee pillows? Sheesh.
Maybe if I were more into Valentine's Day, I'd be more enthusiastic about my kids' projects. I mean, if I were excited, expecting some sort of grand romantic gesture, or looking to be swept off my feet, it might help. But y'all? I'm married to a man who, despite doing little thoughtful things on ordinary days - like stopping on his way home from work to buy my favorite candy bar (or helping decorate our son's Valentine box because he knows I'm craft-challenged) - isn't exactly known for his romanticism. I don't recall the last time he bought me flowers, and I don't own any real jewelry other than my wedding ring set. He wrote me a poem one time ... in crayon ... which included the uber-romantic sentence "hair brown like poop, eyes like a frog." And once, he told me my anniversary present was "in the car" - which I then heard start up and drive away. To the store. To buy my anniversary present.
Yeah, it's like that. He's lucky he's a good dude (and a good dad).
So it's not like tomorrow afternoon I'll be gasping with delight at the shiny new diamond adorning my finger, or squealing with anticipation as I pack my bag for a surprise getaway, or inhaling the sweet scent of a dozen roses. And I'm okay with that.*
*Even though this particular Valentine's Day marks fifteen whole years as a couple and it could perhaps be observed in a more romantic manner than usual HINT HINT
But tomorrow morning, I'll dye all my kids' breakfast foods pink and attempt to make pancakes in the shape of hearts and make sure everybody's store-bought Valentines and individually-wrapped packages of candy conversation hearts get to school and maybe make some chocolate covered strawberries if I have time.
Oh yeah, and I'll shave my legs.
Because, you know ... Valentine's Day.
PS - Speaking of hair removal, I just saw an ad for a local laser clinic advertising a Valentine's Day special ... on a hair removal treatment for the UPPER LIP. I know I've said before that I would love to be gifted with a laser hair removal treatment for my beard, but I'm not sure how I'd feel about receiving it on a holiday that's supposed to be reserved for romance. "Here, Honey, Happy Valentine's Day. Now let's go get that mustache taken care of." *wink*