Every year for Valentine’s Day, I gift Dave a “Day of Dave” to redeem during the year. Dave tends to wait until the last moment to cash in, so yesterday we went out for Valentine’s Day 2021. The premise of Day of Dave is that we do anything Dave wants to do for an entire day. 10+ years ago, it involved elaborate breakfasts, leisurely progressive dinners, full-body massages, tech shopping, or binge watching the movies he otherwise could not convince me to view.

We had children, and the indulgent spirit of the day drastically declined changed. This year, for instance, Day of Dave meant he got to sleep in (at least, past 7), he almost got time to himself while I took 3 boys on a slow-paced jaunt to the store (unfortunately the 4th boy wouldn’t nap so “alone time” became “alone +1,” which is still a relative improvement, I guess?), & we all went to dinner at Dave’s favorite restaurant: Pizza House in Ann Arbor.

I snagged this picture as Dave was looking at the menu on his phone. Our eldest, picking his nose. Our second-born, off-camera under the table, excitedly popping up to show us all the “old food” he was finding. Our third, actively trying to climb into the booth of the people next to us, while loudly singing “Do You Know the Muffin Man” to them. And our youngest, tired from his projectile vomiting episode in the car as we parked to come in, causing us to have to postpone our reservation, strip him of his butternut-squash-soaked layers, zip into campus, and buy him new clothes to wear to dinner.

In our defense, we are all out of practice after 2 years of exceedingly few experiences dining out. Irrespective of that, however, it was a bit of a mess. By the time we got home, put the boys to bed, and cleaned up the disaster C left in the car, it was all we could do to pour ourselves a couple of drinks and watch the most mindless Netflix show we could find.

So why is it that I woke up today feeling a renewed and profound appreciation for our marriage? Is it because this man I married always makes me feel like I’m enough for him, even when I am so mentally tapped out that I can barely eke out an itinerary of fun on a day that’s specifically meant to be special for him? Is it because there’s something instinctually, fundamentally satisfying about celebrating our love for each other with the children we created together? Is it because the trenches of life with small children create new and surprising bonds between partners, whereby you thank your lucky stars that the handsome guy who was so witty and social in college is also an absolute champion at changing an infant out of vomit-soaked layers without letting the pooled liquid drip onto the upholstery?

It’s probably a combination of all of that, but regardless of the rose-tinted day after, let the record show: next year for Day of Dave, we will hire a sitter when we go to dinner.