Another Valentine’s Day come and gone. I used to view this day as a painful reminder that everyone seemed to have love in their lives except me. Flowers everywhere. Chocolates. Cards. All the things. Ouch.
Now that I’m happily married, oddly enough I don’t feel the need for the hearts and flowers. I get flowers at random surprise times throughout the year, and I love that. And I really need to avoid the chocolate anyway.
No. My husband shows love in more profound ways. For example, on Valentine’s morning, a Sunday, no less, he got up at 5 am with me. He didn’t have to. But we were in the throes of a wicked snowstorm and he wanted to check the highway cameras to see if it was safe enough for this Florida girl to drive to work. We decided that it was, but if we hadn’t, he would have driven me the 25 miles to work at that ungodly hour, and he then would have come to pick me up at the end of my shift. No question about it.
Now that is love.
He also keeps us in firewood and actually enjoys mowing the lawn. He puts up with my cranky dachshund and they’re even good friends when Quagmire’s not bite-y. He does a lot more cooking than I do. He knows my shoe size. He built me my little free library. He goes to the YMCA with me to exercise 4 times a week. He reads my blog every single day. He goes with me to my optometrist’s appointments because he knows having stuff close to my eyeballs freaks me out. He sprays Benadryl on my back when it itches. He opens stubborn jars for me.
I could go on and on and on, but you get the picture.
The bottom line is that you can have your hearts and flowers. I’ve got something much more substantial and long lasting. He’s a keeper. And I couldn’t be more grateful.
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