Here's the thing. I'm just not good at capital "R" Romance. You know, the kissy faced, "I wuv you more" "no I wuv you more" kind of romance that usually shoves itself in your face around this time of year. It makes me cringe and gag at the same time.
My idea of "romance" is kind of different.
The year that I was pregnant with Kee, Beege was two. Do you want to know what my husband gave me for Valentine's day? He took the day off work. That is the nicest present I have ever gotten. I will always remember him sitting on the floor with Beege making valentine's cards, with pink sparkly heart stickers stuck all over him, while I sat on the couch holding back puke and wondering if the baby was trying to kill me. THAT was romantic.
The year before we got married, we spent our Valentine's evening in Kinko's photocopying our wedding invitations until one in the morning. Then we went to the all night diner across the street and had "breakfast". THAT was romantic.
That he usually brings me coffee when he gets one for himself; that he lets me sleep in on the weekends; that he rubs my back when I've had a bad day; that he reads to me before bed to help me fall asleep; that he'll run out to get groceries after tucking the girls into bed because we're out of their goldfish crackers... to me, it's those things that are romantic.
That is why, even though my mum and dad (who are the best) are taking the kids for the weekend, and despite it being the weekend before our thirteenth anniversary*, we have no big plans.
We are going to wander aimlessly, eat at places we've never tried, snuggle in front of a movie, and hold hands as we walk through a bookstore. Because to me, THAT is romantic.
*Not our wedding anniversary -- that's in May -- I make him celebrate the anniversary of when we started dating because 1. I like presents and 2. he hates Valentine's day (it's commercial, etc.) so I'd miss out on all the chocolate otherwise.