It's Valentine's Day. My husband is working today, not that we would have had plans to do anything special. It is, for us, just another weekend, simple and ordinary. Both of us are more pragmatic than romantic in nature. The one time I sent Scott a bouquet, he sold it to a co-worker who'd just had a blow-out with his girlfriend and needed a make-up gift. He did take me out to dinner with the proceeds of the sale, but the writing was on the wall. We would not be a couple who showered each other with sentimental tokens of love. My career path into the kindergarten classroom has ensured a steady stream of gifts and goodies, so I haven't missed out. Every year I am inundated with boxes of chocolates and valentines filled with sweet expressions of the undying affection of my five- and six-year-old friends. I rather enjoy this innocent side of the holiday. Racy lingerie and dirty talk are not my forte. Hand-scrawled hearts and messages of unconditional love and accept...
Reflections upon a circuitous journey through breast cancer and a fragile pregnancy, and the beautifully broken life that remains.