Weekend 3-way: my funny valentine

Are you feeling the love this weekend, or are you still recovering from the sweat shop of helping your elementary school children make their valentines? Hand made or store bought?

I think ours were super cool this year

What does Valentine’s Day mean to you?

Are you a diamond ring in the soufflé kind of romantic, or a seven shot single lady? Are you only in it for the chocolate? Do you share the sentiment of Smoove the Love Man, who complains that: “Valentine's Day is for me much like St. Patrick's Day is for serious drinkers, or like Easter is for professional egg colorists: an annoying day filled with amateurs and wannabes.”

For this weekend’s 3-way, tell us a story about Valentine’s Day!

Jacquie:

My most memorable Valentine’s Day was in 1999. I went into labor with my first child on his due date, Feb 25, 1999. He weighed 9.8, I am not quite 5’4”. I was as wide as I was tall. I was rotund. I was an orb. I might have been just a wee bit emotional, with this massive change about to transform our lives and our marriage. This would be our last Valentine’s Day as a childless couple, the end of an era. We made plans to eat at our favorite Italian restaurant, and I picked up a special red silky maternity shirt for the occasion. I looked forward to dressing up a little and hitting the town with my Valentine. When it was time to dress for the evening, however, I was horrified to discover that my poor bulging midsection could no longer contain the bounds of my baby belly. I could button the shirt, but it gaped. Badly. For a normal person, this would be upsetting, but a woman who is nine months pregnant is most decidedly NOT normal, and I could scarcely recover. Nor could I find an alternative that I considered acceptable. So I did the only thing that could possibly help in this situation. I cried. My poor husband tried to reassure me that it looked fine, that the flesh that would be revealed would be hidden by the table once we sat down, and I could carry my coat in front of me when we walked through the restaurant. I sniffed. I agreed. I prepared to surge on. We headed out with my stern warning to the universe: “well, nobody’d better LOOK at me.” Because people tend to ignore giantly pregnant women with red rimmed eyes in bright red shirts out for a date with their terrified husbands on Valentine’s Day.

Ellie:
Oh my God Jacquie. Really? Mr. Can tried to reassure you that "the flesh that would be revealed would be hidden by the table once [you] sat down"? If it weren't so pitifully tragic, it would be the funniest thing I ever read. I'm laughing and crying.

And your boy? He came out good. And those cards? Wicked awesome, man.

I'm hard-pressed to come up with any Valentine's Day stories. Me and the Mistah, we tend to not celebrate those date holidays, and just, you know, celebrate all the time instead.

The other night though, here in South Florida (where it's 48° this morning, but feels like 42°, with winds gusting to 26 mph. What gives?) after a night gallivanting on the town, we bought snacks at Cumby's, and Bill bought me this:

And he picked this up on the beach for me:

Who says romance is dead?

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Beth:
It must not be dead, Ellie. At least not for you and Mistah. Your last photo reminds me of a romantic Valentine tale. Here goes....I visited my now-husband in Sedona years ago. We stayed at his family's cabin, and had a good old time. He showed me all of Sedona's high points, we ate and drank well, and went on a walkabout by the creek behind the cabin. On this mini-hike I picked up a rock very similar to the one above, but with a red hue, because, you know, Sedona is home to the red rocks. Anyhoo, I had this rock for years and years, it moved with me from rented duplexes, to my first house, to my second house, etc.

.

The first year we were dating, I suddenly knew exactly what I should do with my heart rock from Sedona, give it to my new Valentine, which I did, three years ago now. I guess it worked, seeing as we're married with children and all.

.

Unfortunately I don't have a Valentine's tale as funny as Jacquie's above, although my coworker came to my office door this Thursday chuckling, saying, "My husband just called and asked if I knew a Precilla, which I don't." He then replied, "Well apparently she's in love with you." They'd received a Valentine bouquet with an accompanying card that read, "Happy Valentine day, girl, love Precilla." It turns out poor Precilla's girlfriend's bouquet was delivered to their house, while my coworkers mother-in-law's bouquet was delivered to Precilla's girlfriend. Poor Precilla's girlfriend. Stupid Cupid.

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Oh, and finally, I prefer homemade Valentine's, of course, but we went with store bought this year because Anneke's class does everything in tandem with another class, and Merrell is now in school. 72 homemade Valentines? Hell no.