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Friday, February 14

A Valentine Lesson.

I always wanted to write a story for one of those Chicken Soup books. It would be a mushy, gushy-lovey one of course because that’s what I know best. It might be called Chicken Soup for the Emotionally Co-Dependent Hearts and Flowers Type.

It would go something like this:

I am a hopeless romantic. I started planning my wedding way before I even got my first period. It was designed to top Cinderella’s, and it pretty much did except for the magical carriage I couldn’t quite pull off. My husband is still my 19-year-old boyfriend. I remember our very first kiss including the exact softness of his lips and how it was the very best butterflies in your belly kiss ever...and as if it just happened this morning. I spoil him with candy, remember all the little details of our love story, rub his feet, make heart-shaped food, and text him work phone appropriate love notes every single day.

It doesn’t stop there. My kids get spa treatments including pedicures and massages. They are always groomed like chimpanzees and dressed to the nines. One year, I designed a scavenger hunt to find a birthday gift. I belt out show tunes with my rascals on my iPhone then post the videos on Facebook.  I’ve made one too many but not nearly enough black and white Photoshop pics of us smooching each other or just making funny faces.

My extended family and friends have come to know with certainty that if I love you then you will know loud and clear, and if I don’t love you…well, you might still think I do because I’m just that way.

My son asked me this week who I loved more, my husband or he and his sister. Silly child, there is no answer to that! So I explained my theory that you can’t love one more than the other because they aren’t the SAME. Say you love chocolate cake and your favorite is Portillo’s but the one from Costco is a close second. And say you love pizza, but you really love the local hole in the wall pizzeria over Pizza Hut even though you still crave both sometimes. Which do you love more, cake or pizza? Capice?

So after that long dissertation in using food as a metaphor for my family (kinda ironic for a weight loss blog, eh?) my answer if you will was, “Why don’t you ask me instead if the house was on fire who I would save first?”.

Without missing a beat he says, “us.” 

“Of course! Because you guys are ME, just not me. Get it?”

“Plus, Dad can probably figure out how to save himself.”

Something like that.

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