New England Mamas

Star-Spangled Manners

If you're planning - or attending - a 4th of July celebration this weekend, might I suggest a few things to consider? You know, to make sure your star-spangled manners are up to par.

For those of you hosting a party:

1) Make sure you have enough food for all your guests. I was invited to a party once and the invitation said it would take place "From 2 PM - ???" When I showed up at 4 PM, there was no food left. Not even a potato chip. The host had given his guests a window of three question marks, and yet had run out of grub in 2 hours? Not acceptable. Similarly, I was invited to another party where the guest wanted to know beforehand how many hot dogs and/or burgers I would be eating. This was not a wedding, it was a back yard BBQ! Bottom line: don't skimp out on your guests.

2) Unless you have managed to gather a crowd of 5,000+, fireworks are not a good idea. You could shoot an eye out, you know. That, and when people want to see a fireworks display, they'll travel to a location specifically for said fireworks display. Having a cheapo display go off from your back yard is just going to piss your neighbors off. This includes their dog(s), who you really don't want to piss off.

3) Even if you're not going to risk life and limb to set fireworks off, you'll probably still be drawing a crowd, what with the free food, drinks and Bocce Ball setup. So be considerate of your neighbors. Make sure your guests' cars aren't blocking their driveways. And turn that music down! Better yet? Invite your neighbors over. Nothing will prevent them from calling the cops like the previously mentioned free food, drinks and Bocce Ball.

For those of you attending a party:

1) Bring something for the host - but not an entourage. Even if someone tells you, "the more, the merrier" this usually means, "Yes, it's fine if you have to bring your mother-in-law, or your son wants to bring a friend." This is not an invitation to pack as many people possible into a clown car and head over. Bring a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of wine... bake a cake! Just don't arrive empty-handed.

2) Don't mock people who get festive. Decking oneself out in red, white and blue may not be your thing, but some people like to rock the patriotic garb... and that's OK. This rule doesn't apply to Christmas sweaters, as those tend to offend throughout the whole season. We're talking one day of red, white and blue here. Deal.

3) When the party is over - the games have stopped, the grill is turned off, the parade is over, the fireworks are done - LEAVE. No host wants to keep entertaining when the overwhelming majority of the party guests have gone home. Even if you can't take a hit that the party's over, it's time to go home, at the very least, help with the clean-up.

But most importantly: have a safe, fun and Happy 4th of July!

Why school vacations suck for parents

Once again, it's school vacation time. Yes, we just DID have a vacation about 6 weeks ago, but you know our poor little children are so stressed out by the terrible big bad school that we need yet another week off. That would be a week in late December, then another one in mid-February, and this one in mid-April. Gack!

The problem isn't that the kids are home. In fact, most of the time I like them home a lot more than I like them in school. The problem is, school vacations are really dangerous territory for teenagers staying around town. Like mine. They get into all sorts of trouble, and the trouble almost always revolves around alcohol, drugs, sex, and lying to their parents. My kids... oh, they're pretty much familiar with all those bad things these days. Just like all the other teens are.

This vacation my daughter didn't even get one day off before she ended up grounded. She invited a friend over. A friend she is NOT allowed to hang out with. A friend who has very sticky fingers and a much to familiar view of our upstairs medicine cabinet, if you get my drift. So my daughter had her freakout and now spends the day drooping around the house crying about how B.O.R.E.D. she is. Awwww. So sad. Too bad.

My son has been hanging out with his friends, but while he was out this evening I found an empty rum bottle in his room. He's grounded forever. I'm furious. He tried hard to blame it on his sister, the one that doesn't drink alcohol. Um, not working. So off to bed he went, screaming at my evident inability to be a good parent. Oh, my feelings are HURT!  I may  never get over it!

Of course, just who is it who is really punished by this school vacation. Yes, it's me. The parent. The one with two grounded kids. Again.

And if anyone even reminds me that summer's coming, I'm gonna scream!

The post where I complain about life

You would think that I would have nothing to complain about. The weather is finally spectacular, the bulbs are up and smiling prettily at all who walk by, the shrubs that were seemingly dead all winter have come alive with flowers, and even the trees are showing signs of life once again.

Yeah, you would think so. But no... I'm going to complain about the pollen. Because the prettier it is outside, the more miserable my entire family is. We have allergies. Allergies to pollen. Especially tree pollen. We all look like we've been smoking blunts all day. Our eyes are swollen and red. They itch like crazy. Our faces are slightly swollen, too. We sound like we all have sore throats. Oh, that's because we DO have sore throats. Worst of all, we're all exhausted. For some sick reason, the allergies drain every ounce of strength out of our bodies.

My kids, usually serious night owls, are taking naps and going to bed by 10. No matter how much sleep they get, they're wiped. I'm even worse. I can't seem to wake up out of my stupor. I mean it, my sofa and I have become one. The only time I can ever remember being this exhausted was during my twin pregnancy. At least then I had two parasites sucking the life force out of me. Now, I just have mean old trees attacking my very reason for being.

Plus, if the exhaustion and the itchy eyes aren't enough, my children, they are horrible. They're rarely pleasant on a good day. They're teenagers. They're supposed to be horrid. But my God, my daughter is getting on my very last nerve. Because I have the unmitigated gall to ask her to help in the kitchen. I KNOW! What kind of a bitch am I? What is WRONG with me?

Last night I asked her to make the chicken soup for our Passover seder. Making chicken soup isn't hard. In fact, it's so easy it's ridiculous. This is how it went:

M: First you get the chicken and put it in the sink.
G: You mean I have to touch it?
M: Um, yes. Yes you do.
G: Gross! I'm not touching that.
(Stomps off to get something and comes back with cleaning lady's disposable gloves. Brings chicken to the sink)
M: Now take the wrapper off and rinse the chicken.
G: I have to TOUCH IT? With my hands? No way.
M: Oh, shut up and do it.
G: grumble grumble under her breath grumble
M: Put the chicken in the pot and fill it with water until it covers the chicken and then an inch over.
G: How much water?
M: I just told you.
G: I wasn't listening.
(repeats instructions)
M: Now go into the fridge and get out the carrots you peeled this morning and the celery. Oh, and one of the big onions.
G: grumble grumble  I can't find the celery.
M: It's in the fridge,  I just used some this morning.
G: It's ROTTEN.
M: No it isn't. It just has one brown stalk. Throw it away and the rest is fine.
G: I'm not touching that. It's ROTTEN, it's gross.
M: It is NOT rotten, take it out of the fridge.
G: No, I'm not touching it.
M: I'm really  losing my temper. Just take it out of the fridge.
(Still wearing gloves, she picks it up with her pincer grab and makes all sorts of gross noises like she's dying, but eventually gets good stalks to cut up.)
M: Now put the onion, celery and carrots in the pot.
G: I have to CUT UP THE ONION?
M: (Weary voice) YES, you have to cut the onion or it won't fit in the pot.
G: But I'll cry.
M: You're gonna cry if I have to get up and do it for you.
(She cuts onion and puts it in the pot)
G: Now what?
M: Get the parsley and the dill out of the fridge.
G: I don't know what dill looks like.
M: For God's sake, it's in the same bag as the parsley.
G: It's a plant. I hate plants.
M: Put 1/2 of each bunch in the soup pot and SHUT UP.
M: Now add some salt and pepper.
G: How much salt and pepper.
M: Like a teaspoon of salt and a bit less of pepper.
G: OK, now what?
M: turn on the burner to high, let it boil, and then turn it down to low to cook.
G: You mean I have to stay here and watch it?
M: YES YOU DO.
G: I'm marrying someone that knows how to cook because I'm not doing it. I hate cooking. 

By the time we were through that exercise I was exhausted and ticked off. Honestly, why make something so difficult? But that's my girl.

Have a happy and sweet Passover to those that celebrate!

28 adults, 5 kids, one dinner

Passover is coming up in a few weeks. In Jewish families across the world, the word Passover is greeted with a combination of dread and excitement.

Dread, because the pre-Passover preparations are daunting at best, and a complete horror for most of us. It means completely cleaning every single room in your house, getting rid of every possible crumb of leavening (all those loose cheerios have got to be found and removed), scrubbing down the floors, windowsills, tabletops, etc, and then tackling the kitchen. The dreaded kitchen. The one where you have to completely remove all food that isn't Kosher for Passover. Where you have to change all your dishes from your regular dishes to your Passover dishes. Ditto for silverware, pots and pans, utensils, cutting boards, and anything else you use to cook with. Everything you use all the rest of the year cannot be used during Passover.

Packing up and entire kitchen is how some people do it. Me, I'm lazier than most. I just tape my cabinets shut, clean off a large metal wire shelf in our kitchen, and cover all the counters with extra thick tin foil. I replace all the sponges, dishwasher detergent, cleanser, etc. I clean the oven and the cooktop. I clean out our entire fridge, scrub down every inch of the thing, and then only put Kosher for Pesach food in it. I bring up from the basement our Passover pots and pans, utensils, etc. The dishes are already up here in the dining room in a cabinet that only contains KLP items.

Even though I'm lazy, it takes a full two or three days to turn over my kitchen. My teeny tiny one counter galley kitchen. I pity the people who have giant fancy kitchens. It must take weeks.

Once the kitchen is turned over for Passover, it's time to cook. And cook. And cook.  Our family usually shares holidays with another family. We do so for a variety of reasons. She has a much bigger house and can accommodate more people. She has more dishes and silverware, etc.  She has a husband that doesn't mind doing dishes. Mountains of dishes.

On the other hand, she's a terrible cook. I mean TERRIBLE. I know it, she knows it, everyone knows it. She doesn't have any desire to cook, plus, well, she's a bit tight on the wallet. She has no clue of how to estimate how much food to buy, and if she could, she would buy way too little and everyone would go home complaining about the two raisins they ate for dinner. Ahem. Plus, that tightness determines what she will purchase, as well as how much, and she's the type to always buy the crappiest no-name brand stuff. Which is fine for her family, but not when she's having guests.

Oh, did I mention that right now, we've got 28 adults and 5 children coming and we still aren't quite sure just how many will actually be invited by Passover? And how most of those people are her family, not mine. And how she wanted to buy ONE turkey and ONE turkey breast for all those people? OMG, I almost choked. I was like "Ah, that isn't going to be anywhere near enough food" and she was all confused. She thought it would be just fine until I pointed out that most of the guests were not only adults, but hearty eaters. Lordy!

So I'm cooking. Again. Which is OK, I like to cook. I like to cook a lot. But I do not like to cook for an army. This is a LOT of people. Most of whom I don't know. But it being Passover, I'm going to be pleasant and smile while I cook for a full week.

This is the menu:

5 logs home made gefilte fish
Chicken soup with Matzoh Balls
2  ~15 lb turkeys
1 brisket tzimmes
1 vegetarian tzimmes
I large potato kugel
1 carrot kugel
2 other TBD kugels
Farfel stuffing for turkey
4 bunches asparagus, grilled
2 heads broccoli, steamed
glazed carrots with ginger
honey roasted potatoes

Dessert

chocolate orange macaroons
hazelnut chocolate cake
fresh fruit platter
"store bought" cakes
candy

Now, that seems like a meal for a large number of people, where everyone can have a small taste of everything if they want, or people can eat vegetarian, poultry, beef, and a combination of everything.

I've got the entire cooking plan down, and it will take 5 days to get everything prepared that can be refrigerated or frozen early. On the day, we'll cook the two turkeys, the honey-roasted potatoes, the veggies, and heat everything else up.

I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

The way we celebrate

I know there are people out there who condemn the coloring of Easter eggs, the celebrating of the Easter Bunny's arrival, the "doing up" of a cute Easter basket and the hours spent on cooking Easter meals. They say it takes away from the true meaning of Easter.

And to that I say, Killjoys!

But seriously... WWJD? I'm no Bible scholar, but I think he would be cool with us having a bit of fun on his day. Especially since it means bringing family together

So that's exactly what we did yesterday. We don't really celebrate Easter, per se. We celebrate family, and as such, had a family gathering with a big feast... including cupcakes!

And, of course, we decorated eggs with the kids:

And you know what? We had fun. Lots of it!

I hope you all had a wonderful day yesterday, whether you celebrate Easter or not!

Easter- Polish style

  One of the reason I like Easter, is it's one of the few occasions where we pull a big part of Husband's heritage and teach it to the kids.  Christmas and Easter are the two big holidays where we bring true Polish foods to the table.   My mother in-law spends a few days preparing and making Pierogi's like her mother taught her.  It's an old family recipe passed down from her father's family.  From the stories I've been told, he used to make his own Polish meats, the sausages, and kielbasa's  in a smoker he had in his back yard.  Today, we don't have that, so we do the next best thing,  we made one of our infrequent trips to the little Polish Deli in Webster, Massachusetts where we get our much needed supplies for our holiday dinners.  Todays trip, we picked up Easter kielbasa, Chruscik and some type of sweet cookie (it looks like a flat waffle but Husband swears it tastes like a sweet wafer) .

It's hard to find true Polish tasting food around, and this deli is one of the few places that pass Husband's test.  It's hard for me to go alone, I don't know what to buy and I don't speak the language, so reading packages is hard.   I tend to buy things that I know we've gotten in the past.   But I love watching the people and seeing the foods.  The main reason we go early in the week is  to get the food we want.  It's really popular around the holidays and if you wait, they sell out of the foods you want.  For a small store situated in a larger building, it's always busy when we go.

Once a year, we get together and go to a Polish Mass at the church his relatives in Massachusetts go to .  We even thought about sending the kids to the school there so they could learn the language.  But, then we thought about the drive and other options that made this idea not fit our needs.

One day, we hope the girls will pass on these traditions to their children and grand children.  While they may not appreciate the taste of sauerkraut now, hopefully as they grow and change, they will learn to enjoy these as much as Husband does.  Since I'm only Polish by injection (as I'm told) I do not fancy some of the stronger tasting foods, but  I do enjoy the taste of the kielbasa and some of the desserts.   

And so we stick to stories, food and the occasional Polish Mass to introduce the girls to a part of their heritage.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Growing up in western PA, I knew a few other kids whose families came from Ireland, but most of the people around me had grandparents who'd been born right there on the family farm.  When I went off to college in MA and began living in Boston during the summers, it was my first exposure to lots of other people of Irish descent.  People would comment on my dark hair and eyes and pale, heavily freckled skin and instead of asking "Where is your family from?" say "What county were your people in?"

3 of my 4 grandparents were first generation Irish immigrants, and I grew up hearing all the family stories about their immigrant experiences.  I had one great-grandfather who arrived in America and promptly took the "O" off the beginning of his last name at the request of the girl he was going to marry.  Too Irish, she said, no future in a name like that.  He changed his name, she changed her mind, and he ended up with a different girl - Irish, this time - but kept the name change.

Being Irish in Boston was a new experience for me, and when I met my husband at a college party, it figures that it was because of a small Irish flag.  It was being passed around and I'd taken it from someone else and was wearing it in my hair.  My husband walked up to me and informed me it was his flag, and we got to talking and lucky for me, it turned out that the Irish connection was only the first of many things we had in common. 

His mother is from Galway and we went to Ireland for our honeymoon. Half a century ago, when they were filming the movie "The Quiet Man," they were filming in her town.  There is actually a scene in that movie shot in the driveway of the farm where she grew up and where her brother still lives.  We spent two weeks in Ireland, the first one driving ourselves around the country sightseeing and the second one visiting relatives up and down the country roads of the village my mother-in-law is from.

We managed to get back over there for the first time since that honeymoon just last summer, and we've agreed that from now on, we want to take the kids over each year.  Even though we are generations away from Ireland, it's a big part of who our family is, and I want my kids to feel that connection. 

In the meantime, unlike in our wild college days, we now usually celebrate St. Patrick's Day at home with a boiled dinner and a ritual watching of our traditional St. Patrick's Day films.  My husband, of course, needs to watch "The Quiet Man," and point out the scenes in Granny's village to our kids a couple of hundred times.  I bite my tongue and sip my Harp and try to explain the whole "woman-as-property" vibe to my 8 year old, and then once the kids are in bed, it's time to watch "The Matchmaker" and laugh my ass off.

I hope anyone else who is celebrating has a similarly festive time!

The Worcester County St. Patrick's Day Parade

I have to admit that parades have never been my thing.  There's something about being outside in a crowd without a nearby available bathroom that makes them a little bit unappealing to me.  Plus parades typically tend to happen when it's cold; Thanksgiving and even St. Patrick's Day aren't known for their warm weather.  Despite the temperatures, the one parade I really enjoyed as a kid was the St. Patrick's Day parade in Chicago.  They dye the river green.  Need I say more? 

A friend of mine invited my family to join her and her son for the St. Patrick's Day parade in Worcester.  I thought it was something that my kids would enjoy.  Notice I didn't say anything about me!  We arranged a time and place to meet.

I have to say that it was the most accessible city parade I've ever attended.  A different friend recommended getting there an hour in advance to ensure good parking.  We got there half an hour before the parade started and found wonderful free parking spaces behind a local business.  It didn't seem like anyone was pressed to find a space.  There was plenty of room on the sidewalks.  I'm used to layers of people.  We parked the kids right on the curb.  The specific car parking recommendation that we had received was for us to be near Mill Street, partially because that is where the parade starts but more importantly due to the proximity of a Dunkin Donuts.  The business owners all seemed courteous.  People appeared to walk in and out at will, and while I don't know for sure, I suspect that a child or two may have even been allowed to use their bathrooms.

I feel a little torn about the actual parade.  I was expecting elaborately decorated floats.  Instead the mayor of the parade rode by and the grand marshal, past grand marshals, and past parade mayors walked by.  They seemed proud of their important role, but I would be lying if I claimed to recognize any of them.  I was more impressed by the bagpipes.  There were a lot of bagpipes.  Some people were dressed in costumes, and there were several paraders who proved really popular with my boys...those who threw candy.   My New Yorker husband was particularly thrilled to see a parade participant wearing a New York Yankee hat.

While the event seemed kind of provincial compared to what I was used to from Chicago and what I have heard about Boston, people were very enthusiastic about this parade.  Many in the crowd were decked out in green.  Vendors were selling hats, balloons, and green toys.  (I hadn't known that Blue from "Blue's Clues" was a St. Patrick's Day celebrity, but Oscar the Grouch and the many leprechauns were logical participants.)  Everyone seemed to really enjoy being there.  In fact, when I mentioned it at a meeting  later in the day, several people told me how much they like that parade. 

The bottom line is that there is something to be said for a parade that's easy to get to and has ample parking and curb space.  While my husband insists that hot chocolate was a key part of his Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade experiences every year in New York, I have added a twist to make a new East coast parade tradition for our family: Dunkin Donuts and hot chocolate.

No regrets

Today is Valentine's Day.  Tomorrow is my birthday (thank you and none of your damn business).  In recent years, having these two days side-by-side has stirred evoked an odd nostalgic melancholly.  Those of you who know me well know that I have nary a romantic, sentimental bone in my body.  I like to think of myself as thoughtful and- on occasion, when occasion demands- appropriately reverent, but hearts and flowers are not my thing.  Fourteen years ago, I met and fell head over heels for someone who is my polar opposite is very sweet and before I beat it out of him used to indulge his young sweetie with grand gestures of love, including a proposal in front of ten thousand people. 

Despite the violent eye rolling that I usually do when in the presence of mushiness and people who listen to Celine Dion on purpose, I am very affectionate with the people closest to me.  If I know you or feel as though I know you becaue I've become buds with your spouse through his blog (hi Oodgie!), expect a hug cracks your back and if you say anything funny around me when I've had a few glasses of whatever, expect me to poke you (I don't know why I do this, but Hubby now takes a step back when I'm buzzed and he says something amusing). 

These days, my public displays of affection are reserved for my friends and fam but your little blogging friend as a teen and young adult was what we could call "enthusiastically affectionate" in the pre- Sex and the City, you go girl! days.  I raised plenty of eyebrows, but my behavior back then was motivated by the  fact that I didn't want to end up like my parents who married young, divorced young and went back on the market just as I was entering my tween years.  I didn't want to grow up and have regrets, and I really liked kissing boys.  And I also knew that I needed to keep men at a distance- present the appearance of closeness, but don't really let him in (well, I don't think I really "knew" that at the time, but an itemized list of every relationship I had until the one I'm in now indicates this fact- I still have a lot to learn about relationships). 

And with the imminent approach of my birthday and a day that celebrates romantic love, I find myself looking at the lines on my forehead I need to have Botoxed, and while I'm choosing an outfit that will best hide those pale and squishy parts, I remember that once upon a time, I had a smokin' bod and plenty of boys who thought I was cute.  This year, for reasons I can't explain, I googled some of them (sweet, sweet internets, you are so full of stalkerlicious goodness). 

There's a scene in High Fidelity where Rob realizes that he's re-written history in his own mind.  It's a perfect moment of epiphany and release and I found myself feeling some of that as I went through the virtual rolodex.  That cutie lifeguard? He's a pilot now and as I learned from his wedding website he found an amazing woman who also likes to dress up in latex with him.  See?  Soulmates, it was meant to be.  I don't really like black lipstick and synthetics.  I'm happy for him (truly, he was- and still appears to be- a great guy).  Tragic-high-school-boyfriend-who-I-was-sure-I'd-probably-end-up-marrying-despite-my-best-judgement?  His police record tells me I dodged a bullet.  Hottie summer romance guy?  He's a professor of paleontology at a prominent university in the midwest, also married (Okay, that one stings a little mostly because he's brilliant,  he still looks hot and went on to do amazingly well without me- this may be the only time that a beer gut could have been a healing balm). 

Professor, pilot, addict, executive, head case, freak- these men, most of whom I haven't seen or spoken to in more than fifteen years show me that I wasn't slutty in my youth, I was smart.  Because every night I get to sleep next to my best friend, and every day we have the joy and privilege of raising our child.  Though some days mere curiosity may prompt me to enter a familiar name into a search engine, I know that it's just curiosity and nothing more.  Each one, in his own way, helped make me who I am today.  And I have no regrets.

cross posted at Fear and Loathing in Stepford

Where Has The Romance Gone?

I'm pretty sure I speak for many, many women when I share my distaste for Valentine's Day.  All of the cloying commercials - the bedecking of diamonds that is obviously going on in every 2-parent household in America except mine - really grate on my last nerve.  Me?  I look at those commercials and grit my teeth in appalled cynicism while the music fades away, muttering under my breath about the projected cost of a college education in 10 years and the wretched poor around the world who dig those diamonds out of the earth.

Boy, I sound like heaps of fun, don't I?  I know you want to invite me over now! 

Let me explain.  I have been a lucky woman on the romance front.  My husband and I met in 22 years ago in college, when he was 18 and I was 20.  I'd had one other serious boyfriend, who broke my heart.  My husband had just arrived at a certain famous male-dominated engineering college in Boston fresh from 5 years at a rigorously academic all-male school.   I say that not to brag about my brilliant guy, but to give you kind readers an indication of the social niceties that were lacking from  his experience.  Ahem.

The very first night we met, though, we clicked.  I still remember some of the things we talked about, and how there was a feeling of recognition that ran through our conversation.  His fraternity was having a Halloween party, and all the clocks were stopped to show midnight.  Neither of us wore a watch, and at some point, late in the evening, we decided to walk down the street to the ATM to see what time it really was.

His fraternity was on the same street in Cambridge as the old Necco factory.  Now, it is labs and offices, but back then, it was still the Necco factory.  We walked down Mass. Ave,  dark except for the streetlights, and as we approached the block where the factory was, he stopped me to point out the one tiny little window up at the top of the building that was still lit up. 

"That's where they keep the Ooompa Loompahs," he whispered, with utter solemness, and put his arm around me.  It was so unexpected, and goofy, and I wasn't sure I could think of him that way,  but once we got past the cloddish fits and starts that all young people go through, we just... fit.

So, I'm talking about  romance, right?   Throughout the years, I have been the lucky recipient of truly romantic gestures... but experience has shown me that the romance we are shown in popular culture has little to do with the romance *I* have experienced. 

Ask me about his proposal, and I burst into laughter.  The short answer is that he didn't - we just talked about it until we were on the same page and that was that.  Ask me about the moment our eyes met after the birth of our daughter, and I'll get sidetracked telling you about the god-awful post-partum repair I had to go through.  Ask me about our wedding, and we'll look at each other and start smirking about how the band leader kept repeatedly instructing him to "Dance with your bride, JOHN."  In case you hadn't guessed, his name is not John.   

My point is that romance is not found when and where the greeting card companies tell you it will be waiting for you. 

Instead, here are a few stories of true romance:  He sent me care packages of Smart Food popcorn when I was teaching in Kenya, way back before cell phones and FedEx and CDs.  He took aerograms to his house meetings and made his fraternity brothers write to me, then staggered the mailings so I would receive mail almost every day. 

After college, he lived in Chicago while I stayed in Boston for a year, and he once drove the entire way without telling me he was coming to visit to surprise me.  He called me several times along the way to tell me how sorry he was that he couldn't come that weekend, and I nearly fainted when the doorbell rang that Saturday night and there he was.  He had to turn right around the next morning to drive back.

When he was traveling and interviewing for residency programs his senior year in medical school, he hid cards around our apartment.  He was gone for weeks at a time, and we'd talk every night, and when he thought I was getting too sad or lonely, he'd say something like, "Why don't you go open the file cabinet and pull out the car insurance file."  I'd do it, and inside, I'd find a card he'd hidden weeks before - he'd hid them around the house and kept a list with him as he traveled, so he wouldn't forget where he put them.

I could go on and on, and I'm not even sharing the things I've done for him.  It can be so hard when you are raising children, and work gets stressful, and life gets busy, to remember these moments.  Truthfully?  Our relationship is not as focused on each other as it used to be... but I know we try, in ways large and small, to appreciate what we have and not get caught up the days whirling by.

I'll spend Valentine's Day this year discussing my son's developmental delays at a doctor's appointment, and I'll keep snickering and muttering at the commercials where the well-preserved man drapes the well-preserved woman in diamonds, and my husband and I will keep kissing in front of our kids, and somehow?  We'll try to keep the romance alive.