The course of true love ...

After last week’s Valentine’s Day snow storm, I was pretty much convinced that Cupid had it in for me. A day of shoveling snow while watching my baby scream through the car window as he sat in his comfy, warm car-seat was just not the love-fest I had in mind, and I was pretty sure if that little arrow-shooting baby came around, it might be me throwing arrows at him.

I was convinced that little if anything could change my grinchy mood, but on Friday, my real Valentine’s Day arrived. It started with a 6 a.m. phone call, something that usually makes me feel a sense of dread. Very few people will call you at 6 a.m. to see how you’re doing. It’s usually a sign of something bad. What kind of crazy thing did -insert a sister’s name here- do now?, I wondered. I’ve been called at early hours to take care of broken fingers, broken hearts and one incident with a rock and a car windshield, but on Friday sister trauma was not the cause.



I ran through the house half-blinded by the towel that was slipping off my head and my toothbrush leaving a toothpaste trail from the bathroom to the kitchen, trying to grab the phone before it woke up the sleeping baby. My husband’s voice greeted me from the other end, which is always a pleasant surprise, no matter what time it is. My husband has spent the last year in Afghanistan, which many people tell me is the key to a successful marriage, but since we actually enjoy our time together, I was thrilled to hear his voice.

What was even more thrilling was when I adjusted the towel on my head enough to read the display on the caller ID and noticed he was calling from Syracuse. Apparently, his plane had arrived at 4:30, but not wanting to wake me, and hoping to rent a car for the trip home, he had waited to call. With hours left before the car rental place opened, I opted to hop in my car with the baby in tow, and make the quick trip to the airport.

Quick trip is the operative phrase in that sentence. For future reference, never refer to Internet directions for such a trip, even if they say they’ll find the quickest route. They lie. Even though I had made the trip several times before, I thought the Internet might find me a faster way, and I ended up paying for it. It cost about two extra hours worth of driving time, which feels like an eternity when you’re impatient already. The highway was bombarded with one accident after another, and traffic was at a standstill for much of the trip. Somehow my mediocre-at-best driving skills got me to the airport, if only a few hours late, and the setbacks of the day didn’t matter anymore.

So I’ve decided to let Cupid slide. He might have been a little late, but who didn’t get delayed in that snow storm? I guess true love does conquer all, because if it can beat my tendency for going off the road, it can beat anything.

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