I know that Valentines Day is (now) a manufactured holiday. I still like it. It happens right when I start to miss the "rush" of Christmas. All the bright red and pinks contrast nicely against the gloom of gray and white and dull brown.
So I plan. I plan a meal of red and hearts. Usually spaghetti. I even bought heart shaped pasta from a fund raiser last fall for this very event. I make Jell-O jigglers (like them better than the regular recipe) and buy strawberries. I make heart shaped sugar cookies. Even put candles on the table.
Yep, I like Valentine's Day.
This year, though, they called and asked if I would come into work (heart work!) until closing. On Fridays, closing is at 5 so it wouldn't have been a problem at all to come home and boil water, throw the bought salad into a bowl and cut up the Jell-O. I didn't make the cookies but we have plenty of candy so it was going to be ok.
At 4:50 I got a text. "You worked. I ordered pizza. I love you." Pasta wouldn't have been a problem at all. Truly. But it is something so small that makes me want to cry. It is these little things that say I was thinking about you and I love you and you are important to me.
Like:
"Hey, I know we are both tired and brain dead at the end of the day but I know that family dinner is important to you so I when I saw these child oriented conversation starters, I bought them."
Or:
"I made a doctors appointment for you on that day you needed it because I knew you were really busy today but wanted to get it done."
Ok, so he doesn't say it quite that way. But what really matter is what I hear -
I love you.
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