After last week’s Valentine’s Day snow storm, I was pretty much convinced that Cupid had it in for me. A day of shoveling snow while watching my baby scream through the car window as he sat in his comfy, warm car-seat was just not the love-fest I had in mind, and I was pretty sure if that little arrow-shooting baby came around, it might be me throwing arrows at him.

I was convinced that little if anything could change my grinchy mood, but on Friday, my real Valentine’s Day arrived. It started with a 6 a.m. phone call, something that usually makes me feel a sense of dread. Very few people will call you at 6 a.m. to see how you’re doing. It’s usually a sign of something bad. What kind of crazy thing did -insert a sister’s name here- do now?, I wondered. I’ve been called at early hours to take care of broken fingers, broken hearts and one incident with a rock and a car windshield, but on Friday sister trauma was not the cause.