Valentine's day. The day where dinner means a quiet table for two, some wine, soft music and maybe a stroll in the moonlight.
Unless you have children. In which case, it quite possibly means a lively table for four, or five or "I lost count after the sixth person sat down", a bottle or two of milk, most of which will be spilt on the floor before dessert, a CD of Wiggles, Greatest Hits on repeat play and a gentle pace up and down at midnight, trying to resettle a refluxing, colicky baby.
Don't get me wrong, I am not saying cards and flowers don't make an appearance in our house on this "most romantic day of the year". In fact, there are already two cards in the house. One, drawn by my five-year-old, is simple and endearing. A heart, a flower (or maybe a fairy, she has inherited her artistic skills from me, after all) and a simple, "I love you". Enough to make any heart melt, especially when inside it reads "you are the best Mummy and Daddy".
The other one however, is making my maternal heart go all a flutter, in a panic as I realise my future. This card sits on my son's shelf. It is from a 'friend" of his. "She says that I have to give her a card before Friday," I am informed by my suddenly grown up eight-year-old. "And it has to say something nice on it."
Apparently, I am no longer the only woman in my son's life.
"Do you like her?" I ask cautiously, not sure what answer I am expecting from a boy who still thinks he can use a Jedi mind trick to get his room clean rather than actually picking up his Lego. "Yes," he says simply, while chewing on his pencil trying to decide what to write on a card for her.
I pause, realising I am in a whole new world here, one I am not qualified for, nor ready to enter. Is he really on the brink of his first romance? Is this the start of mournful silences at the table, waiting for her to call. Days of him worrying about his hair before he goes to school? Does this mean he will no longer want to hang out with his father and I on the weekend, preferring to hang out with this floozy? This brazen girl who has made such a clear play for my son's heart.
I am not ready for this, not now, and to be honest, not in 10 years time either. My (admittedly overactive) imagination is now going into overdrive. What if this girl changes her mind about him? Will his studies be ruined by heartbreak in Year 4? Will he become a primary school drop-out with a broken heart?
Meanwhile, back in the real world, he has proudly finished his card. When he is asleep, I sneak a look in his school bag to see the card. On the front, he has drawn a heart, with a light saber under it and Yoda (or Kermit from the Muppets, it's green anyway).
Inside he has indeed written: "You are nice like my Mum and Princess Leia but you don't have a light saber."
Perhaps he isn't all grown-up just yet after all. And that is just fine by me. So this year, I shall enjoy my Valentine's dinner, spilt milk and all, and enjoy the fact I get to spend it with those I love, even if I have to dance to the Wiggles with them.