I am not big on greeting card holidays, even though last year the Dear Husband pulled one out of left field to surprise me and I didn't complain or take anything back. He worked his butt off last night (as in from noon 'til 4am) so that we would have the whole evening tonight together to watch scary movies and eat chocolate fondue and practice making babies. But honestly, if he decided to work or go out with the boys or get piss-ass drunk and barf on the carpet I wouldn't complain.
Yesterday, he gave me a bigger Valentine than any envelope, box, or bag could ever hold. He held my hand at my aunt's memorial service. He handed me tissues, he stroked the back of my hand with his finger. He pet my hair and braced his arm around my shoulder. He reached across the seat, where my squirmy brother was sitting, to hold hands with my mom too. He hugged my aunts and cousins and the whole mish-mash of extended relatives that he'd never met. He held me tight all night, offered to cook dinner, ran off to the store to get me a Snapple when I made mention of peach iced tea. He tucked me into bed with a thorough shoulder massage and sent me off into a peaceful sleep. He gave me the gift of strength when I needed it most.
I hope that each and every one of you, my bloggy buddies, has a great night filled with love and strength and maybe a fistful of those little heart candies, because you KNOW you like them, even if this holiday is a commercial-craptastic nightmare.