Before I explain, though, let me weave in a little context.  Our house is divided up into three well-defined social segments.

The master suite is off by itself in the southeast corner of the house.  I was recently at a discussion group with a feng shui expert (by way of a good friend who’s into feng shui), and learned that this very southeast corner is considered very conducive to love and companionship.  Well, I’ll admit it, then.  I do love my husband.  He’s a pretty good guy — despite his refusal to let me be warm in the wintertime.

The common areas of the house are on the ground floor.  The living room/dining area/kitchen are all one big open space, and there’s a hallway leading to another living area.  Very social arrangement.  These are the areas, along with the front porch in good weather, where the family hangs out.  And we DO hang out a lot.

The upstairs is the kids’ territory.  Three bedrooms and a bathroom.  Just for them.  And their friends.

As you may imagine, I don’t spend a lot of time upstairs.  My forays into teenage territory mostly consist of putting laundry away, and delivering snacks to teenage boys intensely involved in the technological trinity of texting, facebooking, and gaming.  (Far be it from me to interrupt or otherwise interfere with the fine dance that is teenage social networking.)

Since the kids have all this space to themselves, I expect (foolishly, I might add) that they can keep their areas neat and clean.

Snacky’s door is always closed.  He’s a private guy and doesn’t like for people to be in his stuff (so I’m sure he’ll appreciate my telling the internet this story).  He likes to have things arranged JUST SO.  This you can tell just by looking at him.  Snacky is always well-dressed and well-groomed.  He has a wardrobe that would rival any diva’s, and a virtual museum of (very expensive) shoes.  Snacky never leaves the house without donning a well-chosen ensemble.  His room is likewise very tidily arranged.  Everything has a place.  Although I’m not sure why some things are in there — like empty shoe boxes and an old ACT registration packet (he took the ACT months ago) — I simply cannot deny that, in Snacky’s room, there is a place for everything and everything IS in it’s place.

That’s why walking into his room this morning caused me a moment of cognitive dissonance.  Everything was neat.  Everything was in it’s place.  BUT.

The dust!  The debris!  The little pieces of candy/gum/throat lozenge wrapper!  The entire room was coated with PARTICLES and PIECES of THINGS.

No wonder his “allergies” have been bothering him.  He’s been snorting dust.  I can’t believe he’s not trailing a cloud of it when he leaves his room.

I should have just waited for him when he gets home from school today.  Shoved a dust rag, Windex, and vacuum cleaner at him, and forced him to get to it.  But the mother in me took over.  Anything I want anyone to do can much more easily and efficiently — not to mention more COMPLETELY — accomplished if I do it myself.  So I’m pretty strategic about what I require the husband and kids to do around the house.  Plus I felt a little guilty that I had just now noticed what had to be several weeks worth of build-up.  A requirement of motherhood is that you feel responsible for pretty much anything having to do with your kids, whether you have the least bit to do with it or not.

Anyway.  For the sake of my son’s sinuses, and because I am the control-freak that I am, I re-entered his lair, armed with the supplies mentioned above, and within 20 minutes had it dust- and debris-free.  I’m not sure if he’ll notice on his own, but I’m planning to give him a tour of the newly-liberated surfaces in his room as soon as he gets home!

As my family will tell you, there’s nothing like Mama on a Mission.  Inspired by my own handiwork in Snacky’s room, I decided to tackle the kids’ bathroom.  One word:  UGH!  I won’t even think about detailing that endeavor.  You may well be sipping coffee, or snacking, as you’re reading my blog, and I don’t want to be responsible for anyone’s upset stomach.

Now, my house free of the most egregious dust and grime, I feel that I can get on with my day.  The sun is shining, things are blooming, and Mama Nature is calling me outside.  The domestic goddess in me tells me it’s time to plant some basil in the backyard pots. . .

Well, tonight it was the following:

1)  A BLH (Bacon, Lettuce and Ham) Sandwich, followed by 2) a slice of mama’s pumpkin pie, and topped off with 3) a bowl of chocolate caramel popcorn, washed down by 4) a glass of cranberry juice.

He must be growing, right?

Seriously, though. . .

Despite all media-driven expectations about gift-giving on Valentine’s Day, anymore it’s typically a pretty low-key affair in our house. The hubby and I don’t spend a lot of undue time or energy on it. Probably because we spend all of our time and money on our kids.

What we usually do is go out to eat together. Which is actually really special, b/c keeping up with our kids’ activities fills up the weekly schedule, making it damn near impossible to sneak a date in most of the time.

The reality is we’ve been married for 17 years now, and I’m lucky to be married to a man who spoils me rotten in all the right ways: he puts up with my moods; he does all the nasty chores like cleaning the bathrooms and washing the cars; and he is ALWAYS the one to go out late at night if there’s a last minute errand that has to be done for the next day (and with three kids this happens with amazing regularity). PLUS he rubs my feet WHENEVER I ask and always picks out great wine for me (even when he thinks it’s too expensive).

In other words, due to his efforts over a sustained period of time, the hubby is now officially off the hook when it comes to Valentine’s Day surprises.

But that’s between the hubby and me — we’re old pros when it comes to making a relationship work.

Now my job is to teach my kids how to make relationships work.

So, this year, I’m much more focused on what my sons are doing for Valentine’s Day. Because, in spite of the highly commercialized aspects of Valentine’s Day, I do believe it’s a good excuse for a young man to practice MAKING A GIRL FEEL SPECIAL. If he has a girl.

In the past, my only function as a mother on Valentine’s Day was to go out and purchase enough Valentine’s Day cards for everyone in whoever’s class for the big card exchange. This year marks the first time I’m getting to apply my mothering skills to Valentine’s Day, by offering my best advice on guidance on navigating the waters of boy-girl relationships.

To begin with, my younger son has a “girlfriend.” The reason I say “girlfriend” is that they’re still in elementary school — so the concept is much more theoretical than practical. Much of their “relationship” is conducted through go-betweens. Although, it’s my understanding that there is much eye contact and smiling that goes on between them, and even the occasional conversation at lunch or recess.

HOWEVER, Ant approached me and asked me if I would pick up a gift for his girl for Valentine’s Day. He sweetly apologized for having to ask me to do it, but pointed out that he has no money and no car and has to be in school all day. What a cutie!

Okay, so we decided that a tasteful box of chocolates would be an appropriate gift. He then mentioned that he would have to talk with her friends about when to get her the gift, since they aren’t allowed to exchange any gifts at school unless they’re bringing something for everybody. I advised him that he should propose to meet her AFTER school and give her the gift. Bingo! See, I told you I give good advice.. .

So I’m presuming the meeting is being arranged. For my part, I went and got a little heart-shaped box of chocolate that comes with a small stuffed teddy bear, and a Valentine’s gift bag with pink tissue paper.

At one point, I realized just exactly how happy and excited Ant’s girl is going to be when she gets her gift. My cynicism about Valentine’s Day eroded just a little in that moment.

Anyway, that was easy compared with my attempts to advise my older son on his Valentine’s Day responsibilities. In fact, this has become quite the battle of wills.

Snacky is currently “talking to” a lovely young lady — pretty, polite, a cheerleader, in the choir. I heartily approve.

Here I need to digress a little on the topic of “talking,” in order to eventually get to my point.

You may have noticed, if you have kids in middle school or high school, that when our budding young adults become interested in each other, they are quickly deemed to be “talking to” each other.

To put it in context: “Yeah, you know Monique? She’s the one Dre talks to.”

What I’ve been able to determine is that when kids are “talking,” they’re in a sort of lower-tier commitment. In the teenage public mind, the two “talkees” are connected, but not yet committed enough to say they’re dating; or that they’re girlfriend-boyfriend. The rules around “talking” are somewhat contradictory. It’s expected that you don’t hit on a guy or girl that you’re friend is “talking to.” However, if you do mess around with someone who’s “talking to” someone else, it is perfectly legitimate to say: “Well, it’s not like they’re going out or anything.”

So back to Valentine’s Day: evidently, the rules about Valentine’s Day gift-giving is unenforceable between kids who are “talking to” each other. While a guy who neglected to give his GIRLFRIEND a Valentine’s Day gift would be up s**t creek without a paddle, a guy who doesn’t get a gift for the girl he’s “talking to” is off the hook.

I found this out when I asked Snacky what he’s going to get the young lady he’s “talking to” for Valentine’s Day. He informed me that she TOLD HIM not to get her anything b/c they’re not actually going out.

Me: “So she just up and said not to get her anything?”

Him: “Well, I asked her if she wanted me to get her anything. And she said no because we’re not going out yet.”

Hmmmmm. . .

Me: “Well, son, I would highly suggest that you don’t take her advice. There is no high school girl who actually doesn’t want to get something for Valentine’s Day.”

Him: “But we’ve only been ‘talking’ for three weeks.”

Me: “So? Get her a token gift.”

Him: “What’s a token gift?”

Woooooow. . .

Me: “A small gift. You know, just to let her know she’s special to you. You do like her, don’t you?” (Yes, I’m the mistress of the guilt trip.)

Him: “Well, duh, I like her. . . that’s why I’m ‘talking to’ her.”

At this point, Quent jumped in with her two cents: “Nobody ever got me anything when we were ‘talking.’ I always told ‘em not to ’cause there’s no way I was going to do anything for them.”

Me: “Thanks for that illuminating advice.”

Quent: “I’m just saying. . .”

So around and around we went. And I have to confess that we are currently at a stalemate. Although I’m feeling a little miffed that my son isn’t taking my advice, I can guarantee you that I’m still planning on winning this battle in the end.