Wishing You a Memorable VD

choochoo

Remember when VD (Valentine’s Day to common folk) used to matter?

No? Me neither.

Well, that’s a lie. There was a brief span when we were dating/newly married when we put forth an effort. You’d covertly buy some overpriced fattening chocolates and battle crowds to have an intimate meal at a slow, packed expensive restaurant. Ooooh fun! Romantic! Nothing like remembering why the majority of the human race annoys the living hell out of me to remember why I’m with YOU, my love.

My most memorable VDs to date:

1) 2000 – Our first VD together and newly dating (as in 2 weeks) Hubs* presented me with a picture of the two of us (we look 12), roses and a stuffed duck wearing rabbit ears. He also bought me tickets to the ballet for the first (and last) time. Sooooo romantic. Oh, to be young and in love!

AWWW! We are babies!

AWWW! We are babies!

2) 2002 – Newly engaged and all lovey-dovey Hubs and I ventured out for a romantic evening. Our destination? MONSTER JAM!!!!!! Nothing says “love is in the air” like watching Gravedigger annihilate the competition whilst hollering amongst a sea of rednecks. This was such a hit that we did this every year while we lived in Saskatoon. The most memorable part of that VD was a) getting rear ended by a hippie on campus followed by b) getting rear ended by a drunk driver that evening. Happy Valentine’s, dear, here is a new tail gate.

I can do a wicked Monster Truck impression. My fave is Jurassic Attack!

I can do a wicked Monster Truck impression. Ask me sometime.

3) 2013 – Married 10.5 years with 4 children, I spent the day dragging the rugrats to the dentist while the eldest whined of an earache. At 4:30 pm I couldn’t bare the thought of one more second in the Party Bus so we stopped at Boston Pizza for some solace. It took me 20 minutes to wrangle my brood inside and wait for service. I was then informed that we would not be seated without a reservation even though the entire restaurant was a ghost town and it was 4:30. Really? A lady with 4 kids (2 of which are infants) is really gonna laze about and savour a nice, long meal? Asshats. We ate burgers in the van on the way home and I got mayo and onions slopped all over my jacket. I forgot it was Lent and ate some chocolate, thereby solidifying a permanent place for me in Hell for all eternity. Hubs got home in time to shovel chicken goo into the twins while I coerced the older two boys into bed. Our eldest was now jacked up on Tylenol I’d given him for his earache and chewed those stupid purple pills you get from the dentist to tell if you are brushing adequately. He frothed the purple dye all over his chin and dyed his face. It won’t come off. The Bigs wanted to watch Wallace and Gromit for movie night and it turned out to be a freaky one about a serial killer (WTF kid’s show?!?!) so the 4 year old was terrified and couldn’t sleep. The twins stayed up til midnight because they had spent the day napping in their car seats while I was chauffeur to the stars (or the Bigs I should say). Hubs was pissy because he missed beer league hockey. Hubs and I passed out watching TV in a very unromantic, unceremonious way. He was snoring with his glasses on and I was in my clothes. We were both covered in various baby goo substances and forgot to turn off the light. When the babies started crying in the wee hours for their night feed I stepped in a pile of cold dog vomit. I awoke this morning to the telltale “haaaaaawruck-haaaaawruck” sound of the dog vomiting ON the bed. Ahhhhh, marital bliss.

Thanks for letting me get NO sleep last night, assholes.

Thanks for letting me get NO sleep last night, assholes.

You know what? My VD wasn’t half bad. It wasn’t beautiful but it was legit. Its not those early-days romantic VDs that I will remember. The ones when we were nicey nice to each other and got dressed up and bought each other some trinket. Its the days where you have oatmeal gluing the hair to the side of your head and a crazy look in your eyes, your nostrils are perpetually flared in an attempt not to gag at the dead-mouse-smelling-baby-poop-fog wafting from the backseat as you repeat “I will not eat my young. I will not eat my young”. I believe that a strong relationship isn’t built on the nice/fun/wonderful times. Its built on the slogging-through-the-shit-and-I-still-choose-you kinda days.

*not his given nor legal name

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