Valentine's Day is one of those holidays I have a hard time caring about; it's up there with St. Patrick's Day in its pretty-much-meaningless-for-me status. I mean, a special day to tell someone you love them? Scoff. Every day should be that day, right? Plus, if it's a REAL holiday, shouldn't people get the day off of work, or something?
Okay, so even though we have established that I really don't love it (oh, the irony), the question is, can I actually get over that feeling enough to celebrate it? And when I say celebrate it, I really mean, do something cool for the kids, because, let's be honest, besides happily using it as an excuse to get Olive Garden take-out to eat on the couch, Craig and I don't celebrate it at all.
Most of the time I don't plan enough in advance to do anything at all, but this year I was lucky enough to actually remember the holiday while I was at the grocery store, so I picked up some Sweethearts (which nobody likes, apparently) and candy for the kids. Then I stayed up waaay too late making them each a card, only to remember a couple of days later that I had already made them each a card at an Enrichment activity a few days before. And how do I completely forget something like that, you may wonder? (I know I do.) Not enough free space in this jumbled brain of mine to remember anything that isn't absolutely pertinent to the moment, I suppose. (It's kind of the new normal. I am not a fan.)
In a miraculous burst of energy and foresight at 10:30 at night, I decorated our kitchen table with some fabulous dollar spot decorations and extra candy. (Which no one ate. On account of they don't like it.)
Then I went to bed. And missed their reactions to the little surprise in the morning because I was too busy hustling trying to get ready for church. I DID, however, get to see them enjoy their wonderful pink (okay, mostly orange) pancakes that Craig made them for dinner that night. It was a perfect way to end a not-really-holiday.
