I'm at it again, living holiday to holiday. This time, I'm hunting for discounted Valentine's Day decorations.
I'm coming to believe that I live life in a series of theme parties. It helps me to fill in the gaps between my kids' activities. It also helps me to (temporarily) stifle that little voice in my head asking, What is the meaning of your existence? Will you have a legacy? And so forth. I can't answer those questions because I'm too busy trying to find the perfect red, trimmed in bric a brac, table runner.
While some may say this mid winter day of sweet nothings and sugar coated sentiments brought to you by you, benefits only corporate card makers and the people who make teeth crushing conversation hearts, I beg to differ.
I legitimately like Valentine's Day and have fond memories of tapas, sushi and gnocchi dates with my kid less husband in big cities. I also remember the thrill of receiving a carnation-gram in high school math class and the rush of excitement when each Valentine's Day of my childhood, my Dad would pick up a Russel Stover heart box of candy for my brother and me on his way home from work.
The older I get the more tightly I hold on to one universal truth: it feels good to be happy. And if I can work happy into some short term theme for living, then bring it on. First, I'm a shopper, so I derive supreme satisfaction from hunting for the dang decorations themselves. Second, I'm raising a shopper and a crafter. Dee will happily discuss the attributes of heart and ribbon garlands for several minutes, even with the deafening sound of her brother yelling, "I want out of here NOWWW!," upon entering any store that does not feature food or toys.
Undeterred, Dee and I will make our selections and move on to choosing the corporate character Valentine's of her liking. This will interest T for a nanosecond while he decides between Spiderman or Transformer cards. Back home -and a month before the big day - Dee will start tearing the cards along their perforated lines and then go hog wild with the fill-in and sticker possibilities. I swear, one $2 box of cards will entertain my kid for a month of Sundays. If ONLY the Valentine season were that long!
I too, tend to my own short term obsession. Beyond the decorations, I dream of the treats I can bake and the fancy packaging I can wrap around them. Trust me, I've missed many plot lines in the cop shows Chris and I watch scouring cookbooks and Googling Valentine stuff.
He still loves me. I hope he does, because I bought him a little something something Friday at Target that rhymes with "ready." Unfortunately, Dee, in all her Valentine zeal, stumbled upon the "neddy" while digging in the shopping sack for her cards. While my first reaction was to quickly stuff it back in the sack and pretend that the flash of pink lace she saw was merely a figment of her imagination, I was derailed when D said, "Ooooooo, pretty! Is it for me?"
When I said no, it's mine, she was unusually persistent in questioning me. After I had assured her - several times - that the nightgown was most definitely mine, and directed her to put it away already, she made one last point, "BUT it's too small for you!"
Riiiiiiiight, I thought. Something tells me Hub will overlook that fact....
This month's cruise on the Love Boat may be why I have a current fascination with the show, The Millionaire Matchmaker. Patti Stanger, the star and matchmaker, helps rich and lonely people find love, or least helps them figure out why nobody's interested (my favorite clients are the train wrecks - the lazy, self involved heirs to a fortune - they're impossible!) Anyhoo, when the matchmaker first meets with a client, she asks them about their celebrity crush, presumably to see if the person has realistic expectations for love in real life.
Before watching a mini marathon of the show last week, I'd never really thought about whether I had a "celebrity crush." It only took about 8 seconds to confirm that I did. For me, it's all about a look. My pie-in the-sky-guy has eyebrows that can teach a Zumba class all on their own. He's Samoan and he's smokin'. Can you guess?
My real life, man, Chris, is not Samoan, but has been known to check "Pacific Islander" on forms inquiring of his ethnicity. But most importantly, he's got the "look," and the requisite muscle-y eyebrows to melt my heart.
I don't believe he's yet picked up a cowhide vest for me for Valentine's Day. I hope he doesn't, because even if it fits, I'm not sure if I could overlook it. (:
How about you, gotta celebrity crush this Vday?