It's a little bit late, but here it is. This is my Valentine. Everyday with this man is Valentine's Day. I told my mother recently that he is a foot washer, a servant. Every morning when I roll my middle-age tush out of bed there is freshly brewed coffee, that he made. The dishwasher is unloaded and laundry is in the process of being washed. He has already made chocolate milk for the boys and put it in the refrigerator for them to fetch when they stumble out of their bedrooms.
He does all of these things because it's who he is. I don't ask him to help me, he just does.
He doesn't buy me sparkly jewelry or cards with flowery sentiments. I don't need to be adorned in diamonds to show that I am loved. Instead I am covered in my husband's love and affection.
He got the short end of the stick