Want to know a little secret?
Dave and I don’t really do Valentine’s Day.
*Audible gasp!* Dun. Dun. Duuuun.
Not for any, “OH MY GOD, IT’S SUCH A HALLMARK HOLIDAY,” righteous indignation, it’s probably just laziness. We do get each other cards most years, sometimes not. A few years, we have actually purchased cards and not even signed them. It wasn’t always this way. Our first Valentine’s Day, we went away for the weekend and got each other all kinds of cute little presents and had hot hotel sex. But now? Eh, that sounds like a lot of work. I didn’t poop the whole weekend because it was our first trip away together and I didn’t want him to know I had bodily functions.
It’s not that we take each other for granted. I mean, sometimes we do I’m sure, because we’re normal. It happens, we just attempt to be mindful of it when it does. That can be very hard to do when you are raising children and you have 943 things on your to do list, but we try. There are still moments of whispering sweet nothings and flowers and hot hotel sex and there are thoughtful little presents, we just do those things for each other whenever we feel like it rather than saving it all up for the grandiose expectations of Valentine’s Day.
You know how I know he loves me? He spends an hour vacuuming out my car. He believes in me. He tells me to take a nap. He challenges me. He makes me laugh. He tells me I’m fancy. He pulls me tight and kisses me. He encourages me to grow as a person. He holds my hand. He brings me flowers on a Tuesday.
Right after grilling him about why his guilty conscience would lead him to get me Tuesday flowers, I realize that maybe he really does just like me. Almost as much as I like him.
And after ten Valentine’s Days, that right there is better than a card.