jamboree

Should a history of epic, spectacular, unforgettable Valentine's Days ever be committed to the printed page, our 2025 holiday weekend kicked off in a fashion that would not even rate a footnote. Dennie and I were home together, so that's lovely in its own right, however, by Saturday, we were both pathetically slumped on the sofa from morning 'til night, enduring whopping migraines spurred on by the barometric pressure changes of an imminent rainstorm. Still, there was that cherished togetherness thing: our pitiful pleas that perhaps Maisie would go make us lunch (she didn’t), our painful, squinting eyes aimed at a shockingly blurry television (which annoyed more than it entertained), and we mustn't forget the many moments we simultaneously dozed off during a sick-day binging of Murdoch Mysteries (if you can call two episodes that required an entire day to view binging).

The family that suffers and whines together, apparently also rewinds together. A lot.

Despite the weekend's rough start, we made time Sunday evening to give our furry Valentine a belated token of our affection. Does Maisie need more toys than the two thousand (give or take) she already has? Need is a fairly subjective term. Does she know--or care--what Valentine's Day is or when it's here? I very much doubt it, but, come on--it's toast and jam, and they're smiling. How on earth were we meant to resist a spread like that? So we all piled on a bed draped in a slobber-shielding layer of dog blanket to engage in a bout of quality family playtime.

Then I made two berry grave errors: I put down my camera (thus missing photographic evidence of the ginormous grins that followed), and I asked Maisie if she was ready for dinner. She soared from the bed like a gryphon taking flight, bounded across the house to the living room, a slice of toast still firmly wedged between her teeth. Alternating from one new toy to the other, she tossed them, chased them, zipped from room to room at alarming speed, recklessly leaping and laughing all the while. It was a spectacle as horrifying as it was hilarious. What had begun as good-natured giggles and silliness, spiraled--with the promise of real food--into what can only be described as a jarringly jaunty, jumpin' jamboree.

A sample of our Memory Preserves. (100% organic, non-GMO, made with real cute and no artificial sweeteners.)