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Roses of a Different Color

Roses never smell as sweet as do the fruits of love.

...I won’t pretend that there weren’t times when I felt hurt and sorry for myself, and jealous of others who have a hubby whose shoulder they can cry on, and can expect roses on their birthdays, anniversaries, and Valentine’s Day, as well as chocolates, gifts, and sweet whispers in their ears.

This afternoon, I wasn’t hurt or anything… just exhausted… and resolved that my life wasn’t feeling very romantic anyway, standing in the middle of the grocery store (my idea of fun these days) 5 months pregnant with #7, a migraine trying to work its way back into my head, and hoping the night wouldn’t be too ‘romantic’ anyway. But there was a slight, teeny, tiny twinge of ’you know, it would be nice to get some flowers.’ Or something. Once in a while.

And then it came to me. In the pasta isle. And I would like to share with you, that I DO receive roses, they are just… of a different color:

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