Valentine’s Day is not my favorite holiday.
As a kid I liked it pretty well. My dad always sent me carnations and a stuffed animal to my house, starting when I was about nine. He did this almost every year, and then my senior year of high school he told me it was the last year he would buy me a valentine as the next year I would be married and it would be Josh’s job.
Except Josh hasn’t ever been one for Valentine’s Day.
I’m embarrassed to admit that it took about 17 years for me to get over this. I’m growing up, though, and realizing as Americans we have commercialized this day so much. Too much pressure for our men folk to live up to. On top of that, Josh shows he loves me on a daily basis.
The dude gets up at ridiculous hours to go to work each day so I can have all the nice things.
Not much says “I love you, Happy Valentine’s Day” more than coffee money.
and all the people said amen.
One of my favorite Valentine’s Day memories was the year our Beagle brought home a dead chicken the day before Valentine’s Day. That night I put the dead bird in a plastic sack and drove to my friend Amber’s house and hung it on the mirror of her car.
Because nothing says “I love you, Happy Valentine’s Day” more than a dead bird hanging from your car.
This year I was determined to plan ahead. Buy the candy and buy the gifts. Make the Pinterest-y tags and take the holiday by the heart-balls.
So two weeks ago I bought the candy, the gift bags, the socks, the gifts, the twine, etc.
Do you know what my mistake was? Planning ahead.
I ate the candy.
Because who can have chocolate in the house for two weeks and not eat it? Clearly not this girl.
So my nieces, nephews, sisters, and sisters-in-law will not be receiving the gifts I planned. At least not on time.
Story of my ever lovin’ life.
I did manage to buy a small gift for my daughters. I made Josh pancakes, bacon, and eggs for breakfast.
But no dead chickens.