we dont need no stinking valentines day

WelchOK.com All Welch. All the time. http://www.welchok.com Diva Dish: We Don't Need No Stinking Valentine's Day From ...

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WelchOK.com All Welch. All the time. http://www.welchok.com

Diva Dish: We Don't Need No Stinking Valentine's Day

From the Redneck Diva: Valentine’s Day is this coming weekend, and it is my absolute least favorite holiday. I would rather celebrate National Fever Blister Day or participate in a party for Plantar’s Wart Prevention than be a part of Valentine’s Day. I don’t remember any one particular traumatic event occurring to make me loathe the day so much, but I do, regardless. I always got Valentines and scored heavily in the candy/cookies/treat department as a kid, but still I dreaded the day. As I got older, I usually had a boyfriend who treated me to all sorts of romantic gifts and cards, (well, except for the year I was given a Michael Jackson CD and all I had was a cassette player…and I wasn’t a Michael Jackson fan, but we shan’t rehash that ordeal. I think the guy still has emotional scars from that mistake), yet still the loathing continues. I am not a romantic person. If I ever was it has faded as I’ve gotten older. I don’t have time in my life for mushy, gushy stuff and, frankly, most of the time, things like that make me uncomfortable. As a general rule, I avoid romance novels and movies. My husband is not a romantic person, either, so we get along great in this department. Occasionally I am moved to write him a quick note telling him I appreciate him taking the trash to the dumpsters before it started smelling really bad. Or I’ll leave a card in his truck expressing gratitude for stepping up and helping out, like the night he took over studying for a spelling test with our youngest because I had a cold and I was trying to say “mother” and she thought I was saying “buther” and she didn’t know how to spell “buther” and thankfully Daddy swooped in to rescue us both. And every once in awhile I’ll find a card somewhere weird like my makeup or sock drawer with him having scribbled a few words of love or thanks because maybe I made him a peach cobbler for no reason. Call me old-fashioned, but I think if you love someone and appreciate them, you should show them all the time and not just on February 14. I’m not opposed to random gifts of chocolate any day of the year. Even from people who read my blog and this column. I’ll even set up a P.O. box if you think you might feel inclined. [Editor's note: Feel free to send your gifts to Redneck Diva c/o WelchOK.com, PO Box 1, Welch OK 74369. We might forward them on to her.] Now, I’m not saying I don’t have fond memories of certain Valentine’s Days. My husband and

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I were married on New Year’s Day, so we were newlyweds in every sense of the word our first Valentine’s Day. We were young, in love, poor, and stupid, as most newlyweds are. I was working part-time, and Paul had only recently become employed after having been laid off from his previous job, so things were tight. When he came in from work that first Valentine’s Day with a gift bag in hand, I was just hoping it contained his paycheck because we had bills to pay and groceries to buy. (See what I mean about me not being romantic?) And in a way it did—he had spent his entire paycheck on a pretty little heart necklace. It didn’t cost much (it had to have been less than $250 because at the time that’s all he made per week), but he bought it because he saw it and wanted me to have it. He was so excited to give it to me and, of course, I cried—probably more from the fact that I knew we were going to have to borrow money to pay that week’s bills but partly because of the romance of it all, too. Now our daughters enjoy wearing that necklace from time to time and love hearing the story that goes with it, one of young love and romantic financial irresponsibility. And I’ll never forget two years ago when my overworked husband who was just getting over a bout of walking pneumonia got out of his truck with a gaudy red gift bag in hand, dragging his sick and tired tail-end to the house, wearily smiling while he handed me the bag with kiss on the cheek and the words, “Happy Mother’s Day.” I was on the phone with a friend at the time, and she busted out laughing in my ear at his mistake. “Did he just wish you a Happy Mother’s Day? On Valentine’s Day?” she cackled. I laughed and said, “Hey, I’ll take what I can get, sister. And there’s chocolate in this bag so he can wish me a Happy Independence Day and I won’t complain.” It’s still a joke between us and one of my fondest silly memories. Our marriage isn’t perfect, and, of course, we argue about things like money and, well…pretty much just about money, but we’ve worked hard to make it 17 years. We’ve weathered lean financial times, infertility, the loss of our first child, times of insecurity, exhaustion, and frustration. We’ve spent many a night awake and worried over feverish babies and comforted each other when grandparents, aunts, and uncles have passed away. We’ve gotten mired down in the everyday routine of life with children, and we’ve both wondered where we lost our younger selves. I’ve gone to bed smelling of spit-up, feeling far less amorous than he would have liked me to have been, and he’s pouted when he couldn’t have that new Harley because there just wasn’t enough give in the paycheck for another payment. There have been times I’d rather have a root canal than watch one more minute of The Outdoor Channel with him, and I’m sure he’s gotten tired of my obsession with watching the lives of the Duggar family unfold on the screen. He hates meatloaf, and I love it. I don’t like to fish, and he could spend days on end standing on the riverbank with a pole in hand. We both share a deep-seated love of camouflage. And Disney World. And roller coasters. And the three kids the doctors told us we would never have. Neither of us is as thin as we used to be, and we both have considerably more gray hair. We love each other more than we did 17 years ago because there’s so much more to “us” than before. Our days of teething and potty training drama have given way to cell phone bills, teen-aged daughters with boyfriends, and a pre-pubescent son with an attitude, and in the near future will give way to teenage drivers. I know we’ll encounter more obstacles and triumphs over the coming years and only God knows what the future holds.

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But one thing I do know is that when that husband of mine drives in that driveway at the end of the day, he’s coming home to me and our three wonderful kids. No, he doesn’t have a Harley, and we own one vehicle that wasn’t even manufactured in this decade, but, all in all, we have a pretty good thing goin’ on. And I don’t need Valentine’s Day to remind me of that. Diva Kristin Hoover is the Redneck Diva. A local blogger and stay-at-home mom, Kristin has won Okie Blog Awards for her humorous take on the rural life of a natural-born diva who married a redneck and produced three offspring. Visit her blog at http://www.theredneckdiva.com.

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