Valentine's Day Celebration: Attempt #1

It's a little late for this Valentine's Day themed post, but my excuse is that Brent's computer, which has all of our pictures on it (including the ones I want to post on my blog), has been having issues with letting me access the pictures. Finally, a couple of days ago, Brent fixed the problem. I snatched the opportunity to view the pictures, edit the ones I wanted for my blog and get them all set and ready. I then took a break from the computer. During my break Brent found it appropriate to take apart his computer and put it back together, and ever since then it has not been starting. GRRRR. I'll attempt to do a few posts without pictures...but don't blame me if they're not entertaining.

Last year, February 14th was a wonderful, gushy, mushy romantic day for the two of us because it was the very first February 14th on which either of us had ever been in a relationship. Being the sentimental young lady I am, my heart just fluttered at the thought that mine would be his first and only kiss on any Valentine's Day in his entire life. He bought me flowers, I made him a card, the whole memory is a fuzzy blur of petals and love notes.

This year, our February 14th was sabotaged even before the first Valentine's Day cards made their way to the store shelves.

I asked Brent a few times in the early part of January if we were going to buy gifts for each other for Valentine's Day, and which of us should take care of plans for celebration. Being the practical provider for our twosome family that he is, he pointed out that we had spent enough on Christmas and that Valentine's gifts were a no go. He would always avoid the question of who should take care of Valentine's Day plans.

Finally, maybe a few days before the event, I asked again: "What should we DO for Valentine's Day?"

He braced for what could be a difficult conversation of convincing the wifey, and responded, "You know how I feel about Valentine's Day, right?"

I said something to the effect of, "It's a holiday made up by the card companies?"

"Precisely."

I made things easy and swallowed my heart's desire of a day full of flowers, gifts, sweet nothings, and heart shaped candy and agreed with him that we should lay low this Valentine's Day.

I warned him that I WAS going to make a special dinner for him and me on Valentine's night and that I wanted to watch a romantic movie with him. That was O.K. with him.

I scoured The Pioneer Woman's cooking site for a dinner Brent would flip out over. I chose Pasta alla Marlboro Man and Garlic Cheese Bread with my tried and true tirimisu for dessert.

Valentine's Day comes. It's a Sunday. We go out to lunch with my parents after church. We get to talking about having them over sometime to watch the movie version of The Phantom of the Opera, and I blurt out, "Maybe you could come over tonight for dessert and the movie, if Brent's ok with that." Brent's ok with that. THEN I start to consider my previous words and add, "I'll let you know if we want to officially invite you, cuz I'm not sure I want to share my Valentine's Day with you." (I'm such a selfless, sweet daughter, aren't I? Parents are ones to look up to, though, because my selfish jab just rolls off their shoulders, and they still are as proud of me as before I undid their invitation.)

Brent takes over for his wife who had fallen into a pit of behaving inconsiderately, and says, "We don't need to let you know later. You're officially invited. You're coming, right?"

They're coming. At 7:30. For dessert and the movie.

My new plan for a romantic Valentine's Day celebration: Candle lit dinner. That's all.

I don't know why, but I got started with dinner a little late. Meaning that at 7:15, the meat was just getting brown and the garlic bread was just getting into the oven. By 7:23, I had begun gathering as many candles as I could from all over the home to bundle together as a firey centerpiece on the dinner table. By 7:35, I was calling Brent to the table, antsy and on edge because my parents would be calling up from our front gate at any minute and we hadn't yet gotten around to our Valentine's celebration dinner.

I was totally stressed (for no reason, really). I had run out of time to grate fresh parmesan cheese to top our pasta, so I got out the canister of Kraft grated parmesan cheese that has been in our fridge since before we were married, I believe (I'm an uppity little foodie...I usually only settle for a high class, fresh brick of parmesan cheese, thank you very much). I let Brent know that he should REALLY probably start coming to the table, because my parents were probably parking outside, and as I did so, I shook the Kraft canister to make sure all the cheese wasn't hardened into a huge lump. Three ferocious shakes into it, I noticed a blanket of white out of the corner of my eye all over my clean black table. To my horror, my dining table, chairs, floor, and my left arm were COVERED in Kraft grated parmesan cheese. I let out a desperate and loud, "oh NO!"

Brent: "Babe? What happened?"

Me: Silence.

Brent: "Babe?"

Me: Stubborn silence.

I cleaned myself up a bit and made my way back to the table, and on my way stubbed my toe in a horribly painful way. "OOOOOWWWWW!" I yelled like a toddler. Brent heard his queue, and came to my emotional rescue right away. I needed some warm, husbandly, emotional rescuing at that time.

"What's going on?" he asked as he came to embrace me.

"I spilled the cheese all over and my toe hurts like heck and this is a horrible night. A horrible, horrible night."

"You're right," he says with a comforting twinkle in his eye, "it's just horrible. It is just awful. We should probably just go to bed and hide our faces from the world." He hugs me and kisses my temple.

I search into his eyes and say, "So...it's not all that big of a deal, is it?"

With a smile and another hug he says, "No."

You see...this is why I love my Brent. He is just what I need, when I need him. I throw a temper tantrum, and instead of abandoning me like any sane person would do, instead he is gentle with me. Tender-hearted. Understanding.

And to top it all off, he got in the mushy spirit of Valentine's Day for dinner just for me, taking the initiative to light the candles that I had missed and taking artistic pictures of our meal to remember forever and ever.

The only other sad thing about that night was that there was nothing about the meal to flip out over. I was totally expecting it to be flip-out-over worthy, because every PW recipe I've ever tried is that way. But this wasn't. The pasta was just ok. And the Garlic Cheese Bread was...dare I say it?...too cheesey (I'm sorry). Brent agreed, though he was bashful about it, saying that he felt it was an offense to his self-proclaimed title of Cheese Lover to admit it.

It was not a perfect Valentine's Day, but it was a comforting one. I KNOW that Brent will always love me because he loves me tenderly through temper tantrums. We were able to eat a leisurely meal before my parents showed up, at which time hot tea, tirimisu, the songs of The Phantom of the Opera and some cuddling with my husband melted all the cares of the day away.