Ok, so we're probably not the most romantic couple ever, I mean in the classic sense of the word. There are rarely roses bought, or candle lit dinners at fine restaurants, or spur-of-the-moment trips to Paris and Rome. We don't even buy each other presents for Christmas and birthdays. (Unless it's something arranged, like I will tell him "I would very much like a pair of new Dr. Martens boots for Christmas", and then I'll take him by the hand and we'll go to the shop and buy the boots. And then I'll kiss him and say how wonderful he is at buying me presents.) There are two main reasons for this, and they go together: We're not the types, it's not a natural way for us. And we have chosen a way of living where these things don't fit in that well (jumping on the first flight to Paris isn't the easiest thing with three kids and a farm with animals).
We didn't remember that today was Valentines Day this morning, and we probably won't remember when he comes home from work either. That doesn't mean that my life isn't romantic.
I get hand picked flowers from our fields, not roses. Instead of travelling, I am able to live in a place I've always dreamed of, more than Paris and Rome - on this farm. He has built us a house. He spends so much of his time turning this dream of ours into reality, and I know it's hard work. He is the best father anyone could ask for. He still makes me laugh, and he still impresses me.
Valentines Day is all fine and fun and romantic (I'm assuming here), but it's the romance in your everyday life that counts. Right?