It is no secret that Bree and I have given Valentine's day less than its due. After the first few years of obligatory gift exchanges and fancy meals, we called a spade a spade and quickly slid into non-celebratory complacency. And even our early February nuptials did little to up the romantic ante. Sure, I still called my parents on an annual basis, trained by the years of macaroni art, but all in all the big day of romantic overkill was lost on me.
You would think that having a child would have renewed my interest in a holiday based on pure love. That I would jump at the chance to shower Otter with tokens of my adoration. You would be unfortunately, and gravely, mistaken. And while Bree and I paid lip service to doing something in the days leading up to the day, once the 14th dawned we had given up on it.
Until Susana showed up - carrying a balloon, a hot pink monkey, and a bottle of wine - ostensibly for us. I was chastened. I was shamed. Not that I expected any less of our amazing nanny, I'd just expected a little more of me. But there was nothing to do except for tuck tail and flee to work.
Sad as the scene was, it wasn't the day's low. That came at around 2pm, when I made a mad dash to Walgreens to try to come up with a thoughtful gift for my only child. I was clearly late to the party, and as I perused the picked-over aisles, my shame burned a Valentine's Day-appropriate deep red. I slunk out with a blue Toy Story ball and 2 packs of sparkly stickers.
As if that weren't enough, I ended up staying late at work, not making it home until long after SB was in bed. As I fruitlessly tried to balance the the ball on the table, grateful for the fact that at 2 1/2 SB still has no concept that we screwed up, and with a commitment to do better next year.
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