I didn't get home until ten o'clock on Valentine's Day. Thankfully my girls were still waiting up for me, excited to celebrate with their mama. They had set a tea party at the table, complete with service for four and a little bouquet of fake flowers. The Hubbs was waiting for me too, rushing me to sit down so we could get the celebration started. And there I was, exhausted and relieved that I could finally celebrate with the ones I loved.
We exchanged cards. The Hubbs gave me two, one funny and one serious. I gave him only one, that I made myself. He insisted that his cards sucked, and that mine was superior. But his cards didn't suck. They were picked out by him. Without any prodding on my part. He read them and thought they fit, and they did. He even wrote a message of his own in one. Yet he still insisted that his cards sucked in comparison to mine. I could tell him a thousand times that I loved them, but he still doesn't believe me. He will never understand that I love seeing my name in his handwriting. That I love and have loved any handwritten message from him. That his cards never suck.
The girls had been celebrating Valentine's Day for almost two days, with class parties and Valentine's Day baking. They were ready to crash and so was I, but soon they were asleep, with the Olympics playing in the background. And the Hubbs and I found ourselves in the quiet.
In the quiet we talked about the roses that he bought, making sure I knew that he had ordered them on Tuesday. That they were in no way bought at the grocery store. As if that would have even mattered. I just thought it was cute that he hid them in our laundry room, so he could surprise me with them at the tea party.
We talked about work and the huge adjustment it's been on all of us.
We talked about what we would do on our day date the next day. And how neither one of us could decided what we wanted to do, that wasn't sleeping.
We talked about us, how after fourteen years, marriage doesn't seem to be getting any easier, and we continue to work harder at it. Which isn't a bad thing, but you would think there would be easier roads ahead.
We talked about Valentine's Days past. How we have spent so many together, and a few apart. How we have always come back to this place, right here, with each other.
We talked about how nice it was, in the quiet, to be with each other. Without interruption.
Then, when it was just me, in the quiet, I thought about how very lucky I was to be right here in this little pocket of happiness. With more gifts than I know what to do with. With more love than I can measure. And so very thankful for a little late night celebrating.