I'm keeping a theme going in this post and the last. Didja notice? I did, so let's all humor me and say you did, too.
I want to share how my day went yesterday. (Because it was that amazing.) (Just wait until you read more.)
I was rudely woken up a few minutes before 6, by choice but still...rude, so that I could whip up some waffles for the wee ones. Silly girl the elder still thinks that this is an acceptable wakening time. So one day, I gave up my warm bed solitude and made waffles and cut them into hearts because dedication to my Valentines. And I just finally splurged for the $1 set of heart-shaped cookies cutters. I may have also cut a cooked slice of bacon into an arrow to pierce said heart waffles. I heart breakfast food. And I heart silly girl the elder.
I also snapped at silly boy the husband when he laughed cause I made two cups of coffee yesterday morning before 7 a.m. Don't laugh at me before the sun sheds its beautiful rays upon my smiling face. Or at least wait until I'm smiling before you begin laughing. Fair is fair.
Then I scrapped all plans on doing anything to my appearance to indicate that yesterday was anything other than a Saturday. So yoga pants and my favorite gray sweatshirt (complete with mysterious spot, I found later in the day), sketchy ponytail, and no make-up. There you go, Valentine. That's what I look like, and by now, you've figured that out. So, let's celebrate reality a little.
'Cause truth be told, we're really not into the forced holiday happenings of Valentine's Day. Cool if you are; I think it can be really sweet. But romance has never been something that I've spent much effort on in my life. The boy gave me flannel sheets for reason I-don't-know, and I give him props for that. I set out on a crusade to celebrate my loves with fattening, cream and butter laden foods interspersed throughout the day.
Those sheets might be going back to the store. I can't decide if flannel sheets as well as a down comforter and my sweatshirts that I sleep in for 9 months of the year might be considered overkill in a house that dips as low as 68 degrees at night. Then again, since I've hit my 30s, my circulation has already started what I'm perceiving to be a downward spiral. Maybe the boy just doesn't want my cold feet on him unexpectedly anymore. Nothin' says lovin' like cold feet on a cold night. I'll lift a heart-shaped cookie (we had those too) for cheers to that.