She is excited about Valentine's Day, almost as much as Christmas my husband thinks. Together, she and I planned a little Valentine's Day play date with a few of her friends from preschool: heart coloring pages, red snacks, cookie decorating. The plan was to bake the cookies together the night before the play date, after her baby sister had gone to bed. The dough was ready in the kitchen, waiting, but she sat at the dining room table squirming, whining, playing with her milk, doing anything but eating her dinner. We told her she had to finish by the time her sister was in bed, or there would not be time to make cookies. When I came downstairs from putting Celia to bed, she burst into tears, knowing she'd lost her chance. "I was just about to eat it," she wailed, as we sat on the couch, both CJ and I holding her close. She was so upset she couldn't speak, and I cried too. Everything in me wanted to cave, to let her bake at least a few of the cookies the next day. But CJ said no, and I knew he was right. I baked alone, after she was finally asleep, and I cried more. Love is a hard, hard thing.