Not exactly romance

“Valentine’s Day is Wednesday,” I told my husband on Sunday evening.

He didn’t respond, which wasn’t surprising.

He has extremely selective hearing.

Just like he can’t hear me scream about a vicious bug being in the house, but I can open a bag of chips behind a closed door and hears it.

“I said, Valentine’s Day is Wednesday.”

He was silent a bit longer.

“Oh, yeah?”

He probably figured it was better to go ahead and face the impending reality.


“Well, maybe I will get you something special this year.”

He glanced over his shoulder to see if I was buying this malarkey.

“You’re not going to do your usual ‘gift’ of scrubbing the toilet and telling me that says love more than Hallmark ever could, are you?”

The look on his face told me that was indeed his plan.

“That’s not romantic?” he asked.

“No, anything involving Lysol and a scrub brush is not romantic,” I tell him.

Neither is washing my car, brushing the dogs, or any of the other things he has tried to pass off as a Valentine gift when he forgets.

I am not sure which is worse: when he forgets and tries to make up for it, or when he remembers and buys something in a panic.

I think it is really my fault for setting the romance bar so low. I had been quite high maintenance before I met my husband, so I thought it may be time to stop being so demanding.

When we celebrated our first Valentine’s Day and saw the crowd waiting in line outside of the restaurant, I immediately offered the option of just calling in our order or getting pizza.

We ordered take-out from the restaurant and ate half of it at my apartment until his neighbor called to tell him his German shepherd, Venus, had escaped the fence and was in his yard wanting in.

By the time he got back, I had fallen asleep on the couch, so he let Pepper out and covered me with a blanket and went home.

The next year, we were married.

We picked up pizza after running some errands.

The following year, we were parents.

I don’t even remember what we did.

Since we tend to be creatures of habit, I have a feeling we had pizza.

The next year was when he completely forgot it was Valentine’s Day and gave me a bag of Hershey’s nuggets still in the grocery bag with the receipt.

“They were out of the heart junk,” he announced.

And the next year, I got a box of chocolates on the 15th, because it was 75 percent off.

The next year, he waited too long – past noon – and he couldn’t even get me a heavily discounted box of candy as a consolation prize.

“You want some Peeps? They’ve got them out already. But they are out of even the bad leftover Valentine candy,” he told me over the phone.

I groaned.

Still, I hold out hope each year, that maybe, maybe he will do something to surprise me.

Maybe there will be a card, or even a small box of candy.

Or maybe, he will do something special.

I have been so desensitized to it that Valentine’s kind of creeped up on me this year, with me not realizing how close it was until I was standing in a store surrounded by balloons, flowers, and big boxes of chocolate.

“I can’t wait to get married and not be single on Valentine’s Day,” I overheard one woman say to her friend.

“Me, too,” the friend replied. “It will be nice to know you will have someone to send you flowers to work and take you somewhere nice.”

I shook my head.

I wanted to tell them marriage isn’t exactly romance or guarantees your Valentine Days will be full of floral deliveries or non-discounted boxes of chocolate.

Sometimes, it may mean you get a clean bathroom out of it though.


Something shiny for his girl (2/11/2015)

I am not by any means a jewelry girl.

I prefer my funky costume jewelry and stones over anything fancy.

Lamar has tried buying me jewelry in the past and only once did he manage to find me something I actually liked.

“The girl at the counter picked it out,” he said.

His tastes and mine are very, very different when it comes to jewelry, and again, I am just not one who cares for jewelry.

“Daddy, what are you getting Mama for Valentine’s Day?” Cole asked a few weeks ago.

“They’re having that again?” Lamar joked, casting a look at me.

I rolled my eyes.

He is the world’s worst when it comes to Valentine’s Day – any holiday that involves buying a gift really – but Feb.14 should be renamed “Lamar’s Annual Near Death Experience Day.”

“Valentine’s Day is every year,” Cole replied solemnly.

Don’t joke about love with my child. He takes it very seriously.

“It’s OK, Cole,” I said. “If your father got me anything, I may fall out from the shock.”

“I got you a good card for your birthday,” was Lamar’s defense.

“Cole picked it out for you.”

He said nothing.

How could you refute the fact your 10-year-old was better at picking out cards than you were?

“What are you getting me?” he wanted to know.

I sighed. Our gift giving is often unbalanced because I will usually put some thought in it and get him something he wants or would like but won’t buy for himself.

Bicycle junk, neat pocket knives, other man-toy paraphernalia.

It is not a gift purchased out of a dreaded panic as he wanders down some aisle to get milk and realizes he was supposed to get me a gift for some occasion.

You know how gas stations sell those gaudy roses and weird little teddy bears holding one Hershey’s Kiss?

They started selling those for men like my husband.

Maybe it should be some consolation there are others just as horrid, but it’s not. It is disturbing. There are other women out there getting tacky, chintzy, nightmarish gifts.

“What are you getting me?” I asked back.

Lord, don’t let him do a load of laundry and tell me that’s my gift again.

I tell him if I have to fold and put it away, it’s not a gift.

“So, you don’t want clothes or linens for any gift then?” is his reply.

I give up. I am destined to either have no gifts or bad gifts. I am not sure what is worse.

The fact Lamar is a terrible gift giver concerns Cole. He wants everyone to have joy, happiness and love.

He also appreciates a well thought out gift.

We went to Walmart to get a few groceries later that day and Cole pulled his dad off to the other side of the store.

I figured Cole was taking him to see the newest Lego-Pokemon-Halo, whatever the latest new toy was, and knew he still had a little Christmas money left over he had been wanting to spend.

As I was checking the expiration date on some Chobani, Cole ran up, beaming widely.

“Happy Valentine’s Day early!” he exclaimed, thrusting a box in my hand.

“What is it?” I asked, opening the box.

Inside was a thin gold chain. I couldn’t tell if it held a locket or was just a chain, but it was lovely.

“It’s beautiful! Can I put a pendant on it?”

Cole looked crestfallen. “You don’t like it, do you?”

“Yes, I do!” I said.

I am not as expression-able about things as he is, and I wasn’t expecting a gift in the middle of the dairy department. But my child is a hopeless romantic and believes in giving gifts, even if Greek yogurt is involved.

“I love it, Cole,” I said, trying to reassure him.

He didn’t believe me for some reason.

I didn’t want to put it on in the store – I was scared I wouldn’t catch the latch properly and would lose it, so I waited to put it on at home.

It was beautiful. Just a simple gold chain that wasn’t too long, but hit at my collar bone, giving just a hint of shimmer. It was not a chain I would put a pendant on, but one that was just a simple, lovely, delicate chain. I loved it.

“Cole, this is beautiful,” I told him.

“Do you really like it?” he asked. “I have the receipt. I didn’t have enough money and had to borrow some from Daddy. I can take it back if you want me to.”

“Absolutely not, I love this.”

“You love it just because it’s from me, right?”

“No, I love this. It’s a lovely, simple gold chain. I needed a gold chain; all my other jewelry is silver.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Absolutely, I was. It was perfect.

“I can do some more chores here and get more money to get you something nicer,” he said.

“Cole, baby, this is beautiful and perfect. I don’t want you spending your money on me if you feel like it’s not enough – when it is more than enough! I love it. What made you think you had to get me something?”

He sighed. “Because, I know Daddy does a bad job with getting gifts, and I know it disappoints you. You don’t get upset, because you aren’t expecting anything from Daddy. I wanted to get you something nice…something shiny and pretty. You deserve something shiny. ”

I smiled.

Oh, bless his heart.

He was trying to make up for his daddy’s terrible gifts or lack of gifts in general.

I don’t know if that’s even possible, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that.