V-Day

So yesterday was Valentine's Day.  V-Day tends to be either Yay! or Boo!--depending on your general state of mind, your relationship status, and whether Chad McLeod gave you a "love" or "like" valentine in fifth grade.  For me, it was my first V-Day as a parent.  Many of you are thinking "so?," and you're right to.  But I was surprised at my difference of opinion on this blessed occasion, from just a few short years ago.  You see, V-Day in the city can be a picture-perfect event, if you do it right.  I just didn't understand before now that I had never figured out how to do it right.

Picture, if you will (but not too clearly, please), a woman in her early thirties.  Finally feeling somewhat established in her career, she found herself coming upon what has traditionally been her least favorite of the holidays (screw you, Chad) feeling more optimistic than usual.  So she hits Prada, finds an adorable little black dress, and buys it without turning back or glancing at the price tag.  To accessorize, she purchases a bottle of Veuve Clicquot (she always did accessorize well), stalks her boyfriend of approximately six months and uses the champagne to bribe him, and finds herself dining at one of the most exclusive restaurants in Chicago on one of the most exclusive nights of the year.  Heaven, right?  Well, in true V-Day tradition, not so.  The evening concluded with her in tears (too much champagne), eating her dinner out of a take-out box and watching a horrible romantic movie based on an even more horrible book, on pay-per-view.

Now picture an older, wiser (snort) version of the woman.  Ok, this one is me.  My V-Day this year consisted of waking up to an extremely attractive man calling my name.  Well, he was actually yelling "Mama" at the top of his lungs, but you get the picture.  Together, we had waffles (fine, frozen Eggo brand waffles) and headed out to Grandma's, where we were greeted with chocolates and coffee.  At night, we shared some mashed potatoes in the kitchen and I later dined on a not-so-gourmet frozen pizza.  I wore cookie mashed into my (unwashed from the week before) pants the entire day, and fell asleep before I could get through an entire episode of Family Guy.  But before I went to bed, my little boy gave me a huge slobbery open-mouth "kiss" and giggled.  And as he fell asleep in my arms, I was struck once again at how much I love this tiny little guy.  It was the best Valentine's Day I've ever had.