Caution: Extra Hot

It's important that I keep a record of the hotness of our Valentine weekend.

Friday I toted Boy around every store in The Meadows, to the bank, the post office, and a fundraising boutique. My efforts scored us necessities like strawberries, dark chocolate melting wafers, dried mangoes, salmon, and a journal made from a French book. The other things I needed were sold out. How could Scattergories and travel-size gel be sold out? Those are not Valentine items. Do you know what else is not a Valentine's item? The new Paper Mate 1.3mm mechanical pencil that is chubby and has a huge eraser. I bought myself a pack of them since I'm the mom, I know how the budget is sitting, and I have the power to make those kind of decisions. I got the front parking spot at Costco. I was literally 17 feet from the automatic doors which means I only had to haul Archer's 32-pound body/car seat combo 17 feet. That's HOT.

We finally made it home and I gave Boy a bottle while I unloaded the pickings and foodsavered our precious New York steaks. I put on a pretty orchid cardigan and the amethyst earrings Greg gave me for Christmas after the failed IVF, buckled Boy back in his blasted car seat, and headed north into the city. I sat in traffic for 45 minutes and finally reached my destination. No, it was not The Copper Onion. It was Larry Miller Honda. Because I booked my sedan a romantic overnight stay with Larry so she could get a spanking new rack and pinion AND lock actuator. Nothing says HOT like a car that doesn't leak power steering fluid and actually locks when I hit the key fob. Manual locks = NOT HOT.

My knight in shining armor arrived in his trusty truck and loaded up the car seat, stroller, diaper bag, alternate diaper bag, my crochet bag, and me. We spent the next 30 minutes going 12 blocks south on State Street. You'd think with love and kisses on everyone's minds it would be easy to use your friendly blinker and move over a lane. Nope. Greg tried to remain lovey dovey by listening to his Dave Ramsey podcast. I found my happy place (a fictional BareMinerals boutique in Paris where I have thousands of dollars of store credit and speak fluent French) while Archer let us know he was poopy, sick of his buckle, sick of traffic, and starving. I used the last ready-made bottle of Enfamil we owned to fill his bottle with greyish, stanky liquid. Stank Juice bought the truck cab five ounces of peace. Peace is HOT. Premixed formula is not. It's the grossest substance on earth. I dare you to smell it.

Greg dropped me off at Vinh Long Oriental Market so I could bop in for a few cans of coconut milk and a bottle of Tonkatsu sauce. He offered to run in but I was anxious for a break from the poopy and the stank. When an oriental market smells better than your car you're in trouble.

After a short lifetime we made it home. Boy went to bed AFTER crawling up the stairs for the first time and Greg and I made paninis and homemade potato chips. We munched on fused roast beef/apple/horseradish/flagship cheddar and watched House Hunters International, which was set in Paris this episode. You can sure rent some ugly flats in France but luckily the couple chose the authentic Parisian one. We were excited the Paris they showed on TV was familiar to us. We felt cool. Cool is HOT.

Greg left at 10 to pick RE up from her late night and I did all the dishes and washed the 64,783rd bottle of the year. Once they were back we watched Shark Tank, our family show. We love that show because it teaches RE words like "equity" and "perpetuity" and "proprietary." Greg thinks those words are HOT.

I woke up this morning, Valentine morning, to a decorated bathroom. RE set her alarm for 7 and snuck in our room to display her hours on Pinterest and sweet heart combined. I'm saving her little notes and Twix dynamite forever. Greg surprised me with three presents, one of which I've never even heard of, but his best present came after breakfast. I had to make pineapple salsa and there was a ton of stuff to chop. I got a cutting board and chef's knife and then said out loud,

"Wait, I just remembered I have a food processor. Adios, manual labor. I'm in favor of technology."

Greg replied, "You mean you're killing Babe the Blue Ox?"

I answered him in the affirmative and then he broke into song. He flexed his chest and marched around the island singing in his bassest voice, "With my double-bladed axe and my hobnail boots I go where the timber's tall." I'm not going to lie. I was twitterpated. Greg acting like Paul Bunyan is HOT. Sizzle.

Speaking of singing we always sing Sam Cooke's song "Cupid" to Archer but we change the word "cupid" to "Archer." So he's heard a lot of Ar-cher draw back your bow-oh and let your arrow flow-oh in his short lifetime. But today it was appropriate.

Later this afternoon I stuffed Boy in the Ergo carrier and walked on the railroad tracks to Hut8. (No car, remember? It's okay. When I don't have a car I pretend I'm European and happily walk to imaginary Metro stops.) I bought a canvas purse with the gift card my parents gave me for Christmas. Canvas will be great for summer because it breathes and breathing keeps you from being TOO HOT. On the way back I passed this piece of trash on the road by the car wash:

And that is when my day came full circle. Or full heart. Whatever. My heart is hearty. I love and I am loved.

"To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is, well, a lot like being loved by God. It is what we need more than anything and fortifies us for any difficulty life can throw at us."  -Timothy Keller