My husband can be very romantic when he wants to – and I prefer it that way. A husband who brings you flowers every day is trying too hard or hiding something. It’s the ones who are romantic only when you need it that you keep.
This was our first Valentine’s Day in two years that wasn’t completely ruined by dramatic oversight. Last year it was my fault. I was so obsessed with seducing Daniel that our Valentine’s dinner was a quiet, distracted night at home. The year before was entirely his fault. He picked up an extra shift without realizing what day it was and left me stranded at the restaurant for an hour before I gave up and got drunk on the bathroom floor – it was a bad year. But this year was different. We made plans and double checked those plans, made sure there were no more stalkers; we had this down but we didn’t try to make up for the last two years. Overcompensating always leads to disaster. In the morning he gave me flowers and I made breakfast – not a romantic breakfast, Jason was also there – and then we stayed at home for most of the day, cleaned and…danced.
That is the only romantic trope that I admit to indulging in: dancing in the living room just because we can. You know when you’re in a comfortable silence and you just have an overwhelming sense of happiness and contentment that you just have to move? It’s that sappy. James and I don’t do sappy very often so when it does happen, we tend to laugh at ourselves. Our unprovoked laughter was right around the time Jason took off to be with his girlfriend. I don’t blame him.
I expected us to do something kinky and illegal with the child out of the house but no, we kept cleaning. And then we went to our dinner reservation together and we had a lovely moderately priced barely-lit dinner. Seriously, why does every restaurant think that mood lighting involves preventing customers from reading their menu? It’s just an inconvenience and I may need glasses soon.
Nope. I don’t want to think about how old I’m getting *cough*40 next year*cough*
I swear to god, if I go through some awkward mid-life crisis, I’m going to be very put out.
Anyways, we had a wonderful dinner and then we went home and had sex on the kitchen floor. I know, that’s not the first time I’ve typed that sentence. I can’t explain it. Apparently linoleum just really does it for us.
That was surprisingly not the most embarrassing part of that evening. Jason walked in just as we finished cleaning up; if he had been any early one of us would have been very…exposed. But instead when he walked in, he got very quiet and asked us to sit down.
James and I have always prided ourselves on our rigorous – and occasionally adventurous – sex life. When the kids came along everything changed. It meant we had to get more creative but it also meant that we had two extra people to take care of – children. It helped that they came preloaded with a bunch of parental settings so we weren’t raising them and teaching them lessons so much as we were just ushering them into adulthood.
One of the things, I assumed had been dealt with before I received the children was the sex talk. My mother gave me the talk when I was about 10 – and then again when I turned 16 with a lot more graphic detail – so I assumed that taking on a 12 and a 14 year old meant that I didn’t have to worry about that. I really wish I had double checked before they turned into teenagers.
Jason had sex with his girlfriend. And they didn’t use protection.
I am surprisingly calm about my 17 year old son having sex. I don’t need to think about it but it’s surprisingly fine. It’s the unprotected part that has me worried. When he sat us down and told us – because he’s also a little worried – he confessed…or rather he blamed us. He said that he was just following our example because yes, on occasion the kids have caught us having sex, and yes, on occasion it’s unprotected. So he blamed us for setting a bad example and we promptly corrected him by reminding him that we are adults, happily married, and are mature enough to make that sort of rash decision. He still refuses to take full responsibility for his little mistake.
He is a little shit who would totally deserve it to have his life turned upside down with an unplanned pregnancy but that’s not fair to the child – or his girlfriend – and I am not ready to be a grandmother. So, we’ve agreed to “keep an eye on the situation” is the phrase we used. If his girlfriend gets pregnant, we’ll talk. But one night of unprotected sex isn’t always a life changing event.
But it’s going to be a while before I can look my son in the eye without going back to our conversation. About my son. Having sex.
Yup, I am surprisingly okay with this.
I am absolutely lying.
So that was my Valentine’s Day. Just the most romantic of days.
On a completely unrelated note: My sister called yesterday. Just to make sure I remembered it was her birthday. How ridiculous is that? Christmas may not have gone as well as she’d hoped – although Ginette, her parole officer, loved my sweet potatoes – but she’s still the closest family member I have so her birthday is in my calendar. I think she’s afraid of losing our connection, especially after losing Sandra. I have to find a way to reassure her without actually going up there and talking to her.
I got it. I’ll send Jason up there to ask why he never got the sex talk. That’ll show her I care.
As always, dear readers,