There’s an old saying employed by couples therapists: Snow White doesn’t marry Attila the Hun. And there’s a lesson in it for the Spitzers and for all of us.

This saying is illuminating the idea that people match up at similar levels. For example: he has a dangerous anger problem. She hangs in knowing that her endless love will transform him.

In another: she belittles him at every turn. He hangs his head like Eeyore and, tries to please her, but ends up proving her right.

Last: He raves about gorgeous women. She bends over backwards to be the most beautiful and always falls short, according to him.

See? The rest of us would run for the hills, but one person compliments the other perfectly in these relationships allowing the dynamics to take hold and flourish. These dynamics are the reason that we hop out of one marriage and right into another exactly like the first. Sure the guy looks different, but the underlying dynamics are the same or extremely similar.

In the case of the couple in New York who just happen to be the (now former) first couple of that state, the dynamic made it’s public debut via the Feds.

No, I’m not suggesting that Mrs. Spitzer was whooping it up with call boys. What I’m saying is that as the former Governor pushed the boundaries, Mrs. Spitzer tolerated. As he went overboard, she looked the other way. Whether their agreement was on the table or cloaked behind late night meetings and business trips, the couple created this environment together.

Whether Mr. Spitzer has a sexual addiction, a complete absence of morality or overblown “I’m too tricky to be caught” entitlement (likely all three), she has the matching salt shaker to his pepper. If Mrs. Spitzer were, say, a tin of paprika, she never would have hooked up, had children and stayed for years with this man in the first place.

Either she knew about his extracurricular spending habits or she chose to stay in denial, but she is not an innocent maiden sullied by the evil scoundrel.

Look at it this way: a Harvard educated lawyer who has been married to this man for over two decades — and this public embarrassment is her first red flag? On what planet? If the Feds could figure his shenanigans out, I have full faith that Mrs. Spitzer was onto him too.

His seedy, underbelly lifestyle is news to the citizens of New York and America — but it isn’t news to the woman who had to deal with this “man” day in and day out. She knew she had a problem on her hands; she just didn’t know when, or if, it was going to erupt.

Am I attacking Mrs. Spitzer? Not at all. I’m theorizing that she made the decision to stay with him as each red flag popped onto the landscape of their marriage.

The lesson for us all? As a former professor of couples therapy used to intone, “clean your own house, people, clean your own house.”

There’s a new book making the rounds called How Not to Look Old. The author has been on the Today show and numerous other places (including being reviewed on Romance and the Mommy) and it occurred to me that as the author is extolling pink nail polish, pink lips and tottering heels, she never gets around to talking about the authentic fountains of youth that can’t be found on a boutique shelf.

And yes, you did read plural: fountains with an “S”. I’m pushing forty. . . okay, forty-four, and I often get people assuming that I’m still thirty-something. I have a friend who just turned fifty-one and has the energy, attitude and bod of a — I’m not kidding — twenty-two year old (granted, in her case, genetics and long distance running might just have something to do with it).

But for those who have no interest in looking like our mothers (sorry, Mom) and want to look good without running ten miles every other day (as if), keep reading and within just a few months, you too will look dewy and youthful.

To start, make young friends. No, I didn’t say talk to a younger person and explain in a condescending tone (a dead give away that you’re older, btw) why she should definitely be taking her calcium horse pills now or just-you-wait.

No, I mean actually create tight friendships with women who are younger and just plain great to hang out with for one reason or another. I have one friend who loves to talk Brad Pitt, why boy shorts have replaced thongs and the latest on American Idol. I have another friend who just authored her first book (with a real publishing house) and is contracted to write a second. Another young friend and I work on writing projects together.

I didn’t set out to make younger friends (like I’m suggesting you do), it was just a happy byproduct of being an older mom. Naturally, the moms clubs and play dates are full of moms in their thirties. Just a happy discovery for me to realize that hanging out with younger people keeps me acting, thinking, feeling and looking younger.

And this approach is heralded by senior citizens. Go ahead, ask one about this topic. This is what you’ll hear, “yes, I highly recommend making friends with younger people. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been to too many funerals of my older friends and family members. How wonderful that I have younger friends in my life.”

One caveat: having younger friends may mean that their younger ways will seep into your life. You won’t need to read How to Not Look Old because your younger friends already have the scoop on looking young — long before the author’s pages even make it to the printer.

Okay, onto a new fountain. Find your passion. I don’t mean get another husband. I mean find something in your life that makes you want to jump or squeal or what-have-you with joy (you don’t have to make a spectacle in public, but a passion requires internal squealing to be considered a passion).

If you have young kids, this can be a tough one. You’re too busy (and tired) to even think let alone come up with a passion. Even so, when my kids were tiny I had a juicy novel always going that I could dip into after the kids finally conked out.

Once the kids are a little older, however, it’s time to go back to your passion(s) or find new ones. Here’s what gets me squealing when nobody’s in ear shot: writing, my dogs, travel, doing this blog, a fruitful trip to the library, playing in the pool with my kids, a long morning in a good spa. The list feels semi-endless.

There’s nothing sadder (well, you know what I mean) than an empty nester who wanders around her home empty and forlorn for years. A month or two, maybe, but years? Don’t let this be you, start unearthing your passions now. And if it seems pointless and way too much trouble? You may actually be depressed and might want to consider talking to a therapist. (Depressed people don’t always know they’re depressed, but signs include: being bored day after day, lack of interest in much of anything and little things becoming “too much too deal with”.)

Last fountain: (that I know of anyway) take supremely good care of yourself. Don’t shrug off the latest good news on Omega 3’s and fish oil. Pop those babies throughout the day the way the doctors recommend (right along with those giant calcium pills).

Reward yourself yearly with a morning at the spa right after you get your mammogram and pap. I’m thinking a new purse after the yearly OB visit. Do whatever you can to make these important visits a tad more fun.

Same goes for the dentist and the podiatrist and the optometrist. Whatever “ist” you need to visit: do it. Makes you feel old? Au contraire, the alternative to medical care is to end up with yucky teeth, toes and yesterday’s granny glasses (all surefire routes to looking Aunt Bea-ish).

As moms, I know and you know, that we take our kids to the pediatrician at the first sign of, well, almost anything. Take yourself too, lady. Don’t get into the dangerous habit of putting your health last — let it be as front and center as the kid’s health. You’ll look better for it, trust me.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a new tube from the MAC counter at Nordstroms as much as the next gal, but authentic youthful vitality is an internal soiree. Sure, thumb through that new book and pick up a tip or two, but if you’re over forty then you already know: everything worthwhile takes more effort than buying a new pair of heels, right? So make a new friend or two, dive into a passion (or step into one a bite at a time) and take incredible care of yourself.

Results: guaranteed.

When my kids were born I didn’t waste any time getting my sleep deprived self over to a full-fledged lawyer’s office. Confidently, I handed him $1,000 knowing that at the back end of the trust, I’d hand him another $800.

In return he handed me a stack of yellow papers full of legal-what-not which sat in a pile and stared at me for months before I finally slipped it into my file cabinet. The stack of yellow still sits there today.

My kids are five and three now and yours truly is a complete idiot. I have a couple of degrees, can make a passable lasagna and, each year, attempt to learn something new — and besides the time that I endured a very rude, narcissistic boss, I haven’t often considered myself moronic. Until now.

I. Just. Can’t. Do. It. Every time I start the process, I drop the ball. See, we don’t have a good place to leave our kids if we both kick. My parents? No, too many unresolved anger issues. My sister? No, we don’t see eye-to-eye on how to raise kids — plus she lives out of state. I have a brother and sister-in-law who do share our values. . . and our kids will go to them.

Yes, we have good life insurance. The lucky winners get my kids and they also receive sizable payments to feed, clothe and college said kids.

So why can’t I fish out the yellow stack and make the appropriate marks for the lawyer? Simple. It’s horrendous to think of leaving my precious kids to another couple. Just horrendous. I end up in tears every time. The thought is so sad and hard for me that my mind blocks the entire topic just as soon as I start having a meaningful conversation with myself.

Rather than trying to communicate with myself, I need to employ tough love. A good kick in the you-know-what is in order and for one reason only: as horrendous as it is to think about my husband’s and my disappearance from this planet before my chicks have learned to fly, it’s beyond horrendous to leave children without after-death legal instructions. Because then the state steps in. Millions in life insurance is involved. The nicest of people feud over money. And, in the process, the kids become further traumatized by the instability of it all. And who can they thank? I look at her in the mirror each morning.

I have to get over my own sadness and do the right thing by my boys. I want to leave letters to the kids. Letters to the new caregivers. Maybe even a dvd for my children to watch one day (like I could keep my composure and not sob through the entire thing).

As the books I read to my children say, “I Am Brave!” I can do this. I have to do this. I plan to eat this elephant one bite at a time. Call lawyer. Beg for a payment plan. Do a third of the yellow sheets. And another third until they’re finished. Call State Farm. Change my life insurance beneficiaries. Chew, chew, chew, swallow until it’s complete. And air-tight.

Should the worst happen, the last thing I can do for my babies is provide as well as possible for their future. Maybe I won’t be around to make it all happen, but at least I gave them my best. And my saddest. My last energy to them will be, “I’m here for you, even if I’m here only in heart.”

What’s sexy about wills? Not a darn thing, but it’s an important issue none of us want to think about. Kisses to you for doing the right thing.

I admit it: I’m vain. And shallow. And I’m not twenty-two. And seeing myself get older in the mirror is, well, just plain weird.

So a new book is on the market called How to Not Look Old. It’s all about how to be Young & Hip without looking like you bought a book to tell you how to be Young & Hip. Because if you bought a book to tell you how to be Y & H — you’re really not Y & H (and the real ones can tell the fakes from a Starbucks away!).

Since you probably don’t have time to read the whole book, I’ll give you the scoop:

a) switch to a pale, sheer pink lipstick, Charla thinks red is very yesterday and very aging.

b) get a weekly manicure and make it match your pale, sheer pink lips. Keep your nails medium: 1/4 inch over your fingertip at most. If you can’t afford weekly pampering: too bad, Charla implies, get it anyway!

c) wear Spanx. Yes, even if you’re a size 2 according to Charla. Frankly, my pals at the park don’t care if they catch sight of my muffin top — they’re just glad their own muffin isn’t showing.

d) ditch the old, gray undies and buy beautiful lingerie.

e) pick new, hip eyeglass frames.

f) wear all of your jewelery in the daytime too. Life’s too short, she says, for your jewelery to sit hidden, in the dark.

g) visit a Med Spa and get the Botox, Restylane etc. etc. I say: tread carefully.

h) don’t let grays poke through. I’m often lazy on this one.

I) buy hip jeans that cost a fortune. I say, inexpensive jeans look fine too.

Granted, most of these tips fall into the “duh” category. But I followed her advice and had a manicure. Did my husband notice? Of course not. But I’ve had a mini thrill every time I glance down and see ten pretty pink nails. Just fun (and for me, different). They’ll split and crack soon enough.

As a mom, my wearing nighttime jewelery in the daytime would make me look a little too much like a prostitute, but I will hit the glasses store and get some new frames. I admit: I’m all grandma in my current glasses.

There! I just saved you $25.99 (unless you buy on Amazon, then $15). Oh yeah: she recommends only wearing high heels. And falling in them as you’re running after kids who know you can’t catch them in those funny looking shoes is definitely not Y & H.

Onto my Best Bra Tip Ever ~ I’ve fallen in love with a new bra. Not only is this bra pretty and comes in a neutral color that goes under everything (oh, yeah, forgot to tell you: the above author says no white bras! Period. They clash with everything! Horrors!), but it has something very special stitched into it’s sides. Silicone, ladies!! Finally they’re putting silicone in a useful place. In case you’re wondering what’s the excitement with silicone, I’ll share. It makes the sides of the bra just so much more stretchy and comfortable.

Really, it’s pure genius: silicone on the sides, People! — what good does it do in the front?!

Marie Jo Avero Bra

Nobody going through infertility treatments is having sex. I know whereof I speak. My husband and I stopped having sex soon after I started Clomid and never commenced again until after the baby arrived. Well after.

By sex I mean, anything that starts with a gleam in the eye and ends in pleasant thoughts and cuddling.

Sex on the doctor’s, or body’s, time schedule isn’t sexy. Nothing sexy about it. It’s super hard (well, often times it literally isn’t) and can create super annoyance among even the best bedroom matched couple.

Would you like a tip or two from someone who has been there (and didn’t always do that)?

Problem One (of many, I don’t know why I picked this one to start): the guy doesn’t like performing on schedule. It’s the one time in his life when he isn’t raring to go. If anything his attitude becomes, “there’s always next month, honey.” Whereas the woman is like, “next month?! I can’t wait another second for a baby. Get over here, I’ll do it myself!”

Helpful Tip: set the scene, ladies. You know and I know that the point is to accomplish a little science project here. But at least give him a whiff of “I must have you” and your science project stands a better chance. Think: lingerie, nice dinner, candles.

Problem Two: You’re depressed every month when you get the very sad, totally unacceptable news. But it’s a downward spiral. Because you’re so sad, you stop having sex until the right biological moment presents itself again which infuriates him. “You only want me for my sperm!” he yells. Which, at this time in history, is exactly on the mark.

Empathetic Tip: Of course you are extremely upset. Nobody should have to go through what you’re experiencing. Anything you can do to help yourself through these endless, horrendous days and nights is a good thing. Don’t be stingy with yourself.

I knew a woman who had planned a trip to Greece that just happened to occur a week or so after her miscarriage. The trip worked it’s magic: of course she grieved, but she also got to grieve in a place that always felt like a second home to her.

Of course, I’m not suggesting a trip to Greece (people doing infertility treatments can rarely travel sixty minutes away from their doctor), but I am suggesting that you build in fun times to occur right after you get the news. A long morning at the spa. A juicy book you’ve been wanting to read. That season of Sex and the City you missed entirely. A session with your therapist.

So how to communicate with a husband who is irritated that sex comes and go with the waxing and waning of the biological tides?

Start with coming clean with him. The medication, the scheduling, the disappointments lead to a much lower sex drive for the girls. No, this info. doesn’t do it for him, but it does let him know, “it’s not you.” Definitely keep repeating: it’s not you, it’s not you, it’s not you.

Problem three: When the calendar says “it’s time” and the two of you are in the hay and not so excited to be there, pull out a drawer full of aides. Men are visual: magazines, sexy books, a dvd. Turn on sexy music. Give a back rub. Smile as much as you can. Yes, I know this is serious and there’s little to smile about months and years into infertility treatments, but crack one anyway.

Problem Four: Nobody understands the pain of infertility.

Suggestion: First of all, it’s not your imagination. Nobody does understand. Are you sick of hearing, “take a Hawaii trip and make a baby” tip? I was. I’m not easily offended, but I got sick and tired of hearing people say “you know, there is such a thing as trying too hard.”

I wanted to respond, “you know, there is such a thing as showing loving concern and knowing that you’re not a fertility specialist or even an obgyn.” Geez. I’m still irritated. Obviously.

The problem of nobody getting it besides the two of you is that it puts an enormous pressure on your relationship (as if the relationship didn’t have enough already). It really becomes the two of you against the world or at least it feels that way. Avoid: insensitive people, babies, baby showers, grandparent-wanna-be’s who keep asking, hairstylist who keep asking etc. etc.

Hang out with anyone who is kind, sweet and loving. As for hanging out on the computer or in person with others experiencing infertility, that’s a tough one. Play it by ear. Sometimes it’s the coolest thing ever to be with others who understand. Other times it’s painful to hear that they once again received a negative too. You start to wonder, “doesn’t anyone get pregnant??”

In conclusion, I can’t summon up one final grand tip or anything like that. You’re going through the depths and, at most, you can hope for moments of peace now and then. I know the disappointment and sadness and the constant up’s and down’s you’re riding. You’re not alone. Personally I think there should be a Purple Heart for those of us putting our full heart into creating a baby. But since there isn’t: a salute. A standing ovation. A tight hug. From me to you.

For the most part, nobody’s talking. In public, that is. But get a few mommies chatting, with margarita in hand, about their post-kid sex life and they come clean with casual comments like, “Hey, my husband loves his once-a-month-girl.” And, “I keep making the grand promise every night, but every night I’m just too wiped.” Or, “Poor guy: he hears a lot of ‘tonight’s the night, Zzzz.’”

It’s sad that every husband thinks every other husband is getting more than him.

What’s a red-blooded American husband to do? Ah, so glad you asked. Eavesdrop in on a group of mommies who all have a different take on what gets her going:

“When he takes out the trash, it’s just like foreplay.”

“A long Saturday at the spa, a nap afterwards and I’m ready that evening.”

“It’s the little things that add up: being nice and not so critical would be a good start.” (Ouch.)

“I’d honestly do ‘it’ more, but his idea of ‘it’ and my idea are worlds apart.”

“Please don’t try to have sex with me when I’m asleep.”

“I actually like having sex after a few hours of sleep at night: then I’m not so tired.”

“Back rubs really help.”

“Back rubs just put me to sleep.”

“Gorgeous lingerie is fun, but he’s regularly bringing home stuff that I would never wear then he gets mad at me and pouts.”

“Well, if we didn’t have kids,” one mommie started. “Stop!” we yelled. Don’t go there!” Woulda, coulda, shoulda was the look on all of our faces.

Don’t get me wrong, we love our children dearly. Would take a train for them any day of the week without blinking, but none of us feel like we were prepared for the rigors of raising children and how it would affect our marriages.

And how to prepare today’s young marrieds? Not possible, I say. The glow of new love is the most solid fortress ever constructed for buffeting baby-doubt.

It’s like those old bits from logic class:

1. Dogs have four legs.

2. Men have two legs.

3. Therefore men are not dogs.

Now my theory on couples and sex:

1. Pre-kids, couples love to make love.

2. Children turn life upside down/inside out.

3. Women don’t want to have sex upside down.

And men say women are hard to understand. (Moral to this story: none of the husbands are getting any.)

Want more from us? Check out romance — a place for good laughs and tips for kid-shocked mommies and daddies (and we highlight incredible lingerie for the discerning couple too!)

My husband calls it “drawer wear”. You know, lingerie that he loved and bought, but that I wouldn’t be caught dead in. The poor pieces languish in my dresser, never to see the light of day (or a flicker of candlelight on a sexy evening).

Ready to talk a reluctant lady into some seductive skivvies? Time for some pointers, boys. Let’s give you the winning edge in selecting lingerie that will leave her stunned, delighted and ready to go!

Know her size: Buy too small and you’re in the dog house, dude. Creep into her closet and take notes (yes, literally) on her jeans and shirt size. Feel your way through her undies drawer and, again, write down the sizes. You might even want to take a picture of your beloved with your camera phone. If nothing else works: ask. Bring your notes and pictures into a fine lingerie boutique with you and show everything to the sales associate. (She will soon become your new BFF.)

Comfort level: Is there a man on the planet who can confidently stride into a lingerie store and not feel like he was sucked back into the bowels of his teenage, acne years? I’m sure they exist somewhere, but they’re elusive, rare and not often seen.

Note to you: you’re normal to feel anxiety. Sales associates are selected by the owner for their friendly and gracious ways. Really. They don’t care that these lingeries pieces are sex aids. Trust me, they only want to make you happy and get your signature on a credit card slip. (And they’re going to work their darndest so that your woman doesn’t return the piece at a later date.)

Your mantra is: “I’m a normal guy. These lingerie ladies see men all day long. I’m one of zillions.” Which is totally true. The boutiques report that a full third of their customers are guys. One boutique owner says, “some mornings, I see nothing but men. We’re used to it.”

One last soothing comment: the owners and women who work in the fine lingerie boutiques are usually lingerie-afficienados. They love to talk about their passion and loves anyone who loves what they love. No different than Mustang-lovers or 49-er-lovers. See what I mean?

Fabric: Nobody wants itchy and scratchy near their private parts. The finest silk, the best lace, the softest material leave a woman in awe. Fine lingerie boutiques are brimming with jaw-droppingly gorgeous lingerie pieces created out of the best material available. Enjoy it. Appreciate it. Select the one that calls to you. (And, no matter what: steer clear of any lingerie store found in a mall. You’re looking for a fine lingerie boutique. Not Victoria’s Marketing Secret.)

Know her style: If your woman never, ever wears a thong and remarks that they do remind her of dental floss. Guess what? Don’t buy a thong. Since she wears a nasty, gray tee shirt to bed, it’s not your fault that you don’t know what she loves in lingerie.To begin, rifle through her dresser drawers again. What do you see? If it’s boring underwear, then at the boutique buy boy shorts, full underwear that are gorgeous, but cover her rear and chemises with robes. What’s a chemise? Sort of like a dress, but it’s really lingerie and many of them come with a matching robe. You can’t miss with a beautiful chemise/robe-combo. Teddies come in second (unless she hates her legs.)

Last, let the sales associate pick something. Give her a clue or two by saying “my wife is rather conservative and hasn’t bought a new bra in two decades.” The sales associate will feel your pain and immediately go to town helping to select a stunning choice.

Know her areas of discomfort: Have you heard your woman time and again say, “don’t look at my stomach!” That means she hates her stomach. If she says, “my thighs are like tree trunks.” That means she hates her thighs. If she says I really hate my boobs. That means, she really hates her boobs.

Another clue: check out the bathing suits she wears. Not the ones she buys, the one she actually wears. The bathing suit clue will tell you volumes in what she likes and doesn’t like about herself. (Remember, start safe and one day you’ll be confidently selecting a corset with garters. Or even a Swarovski crystal-studded thong. A man can certainly dream.)

By knowing what she dislikes about herself, you’re armed with stellar info. to make a fabulous selection. Hates her legs? Go for the gorgeous long gown with robe. Hates the tummy: Teddy or chemise. Hates her breasts? Share this tidbit with the sales associate and let her pick something that will camouflage the situation. Hates her whole body? (Very sad.) Again, go with a gorgeous, long negligee and a matching robe (but lots of silk and lace, of course).

Armed with the right info, you can move mountains, soldier! One last tip: for a rapid fire education in the various fine lingerie designers, check out our Five Star choices.

Ready. Aim. Light a fire, Tiger.

Yearning to ditch your gray bras and undies that look way too much like the grandma-wear you (tragically) caught your mom in as a child? Or maybe your dresser is brimming with inexpensive thongs and teddies but you hanker for a piece or two of fine lingerie?

At Romance and the Mommy.com, we know it’s all too easy to get lost in the vast array of lingerie designers, collections and styles. Not to mention figuring how to fund the expensivo purchase in the first place. (More on this important topic in a moment. Good news! We don’t suggest you sell your yacht.)

We’ve done our share of research and testing on this beautiful subject and while we’d hardly claim to know it all, we often feel as if a Ph.D. in fine lingerie will arrive in the mail any day now. Glean what’s helpful from our lingerie knowledge bank and behold our five top picks for the richest, most high-caloric lingerie ever (all from France and Italy, of course, mon amie):

• We love, love, love anything by French designer Simone Perele. Intricate detail, lacy pieces to-die-for. Find at gigis closet.

• Long considered to be the Rolls Royce of French lingerie, French women insist on Lise Charmel. Don’t. Miss. These. Pieces. de. Resistance. You’ll find at: Ysandre.

• Aubade is always cutting edge, yet maintains elegance in every piece. All excellence de Francais. Discover for yourself at Tanga Fine Lingerie.

• La Perla from Italia. Runs pricey, but everyone seems to agree that La Perla is La Worth It. What you’d expect to find in the rich and famous’ lingerie drawers, you’ll find at La Perla’s new online site.

• Cosabella also from Italy (means “pretty thing”) is known throughout the land as offering every il colore in the rainbow in panties and thongs — and for being molto comfy. Indulge at Chic Mystique.

Where to find the cash for these pricey beauties? Do what the French have done for ages: buy one or two super high quality bras and panties a year.

Our French friend says, “French women are taught from a young age to budget in lingerie purchases the same way American women are taught to buy a winter coat or a new bathing suit each year. Fine lingerie is a vital part of my wardrobe and I skimp in other places so that I can buy the Lise Charmel that I’m accustomed to wearing. Would I wear poor quality underwear? Never.”

Even if you sprinkle your old bras and undies on the ground like bread crumbs in hopes of finding your way back to VS, you’ll soon be thrilled to be thoroughly and gloriously seduced by the abundant forest of fine lingerie.

Discover more gems at Romance and the Mommy.com’s Lingerie Boutique.

Or read suggestions for Romantic Travel.

And don’t miss Five Best Things to Tell a Mommy (if You’re a Daddy).

My husband is the reigning victor when it comes to all things daddy. But does he hit the mark when it comes to the romance department, specifically, Valentine’s? Not so much.

His reasoning for slacking is:

1) Valentine’s is a manufactured holiday and he refuses to be suckered.

2) the restaurants and venues are packed on the big night and he hates to be one of the herd.

3) prices for chocolate, lingerie, dinners out etc. are jacked up in the month of February — again it’s all for suckers according to him.

My husband may not be a sucker, but apparently he married one because, just once in my life, I would love a real Valentine’s.

So, here are some clues for all husbands who find themselves Valentine’s-challenged:

• Women can’t get enough of husbands who pre-plan with no real reminders from us. That means: pick the date, book the sitter now — you can do it.

Better for the wallet: Book the grandma.

• Do women love stereotypical stuff on Valentine’s like fireside dining at a swank restaurant? jewelery? roses? a touching card? One word for you: youbetcha.

• Coolest gift that will dissolve your wife into a puddle of tears? Adding a diamond to her wedding ring. No, I don’t work for the jewelery industry. Women dig this type of sentimental gesture beyond words — except she will find plenty to say when she tells her friends about your gift in the following week!

Better on the credit card: If you think diamonds, too, are a sham and you’re both in agreement: you know where to go.

• Onto flowers. Yes? No? Maybe? A definite yes. For the best presentation, have a bouquet sent mid-afternoon on the big day with a note that says: after all these years, I still can’t believe you said yes to marrying me. The sitter arrives at 5:00 p.m. Dress for a special dinner. Happy Valentine’s to the love of my life.

Better points: Plant something beautiful in the yard that she can admire for years. I’ve always wanted an orange tree, myself. Get creative and wrap a humongo, red bow around the gift for all the world to see. Don’t tell her about it: just let her discover.

• What about lingerie? This is a tricky one. If you have a happy enough bedroom life and you know what she loves: then go for it. If your sex life falls into the it’s-okay-could-be-better, than check out Romance and the Mommy.com’s Lingerie Boutique. You’ll be safe with everything we’ve selected. If the two of you are in the worst place you’ve ever been in terms of sex: then forgo lingerie.

Better trick: Some people, my husband included, insist that lingerie needs to be silk and top-of-line. I don’t get this reasoning. If it’s lusty lingerie, it will be worn for — maybe — three minutes before being ripped off. I say head to Walmart, TJ Max, whatever and pick out something pretty. Wrap nicely, however.

• Black-tie dinner? Some women go ballistic for this type of romantic offering. We have an expensive Italian that I’ve heard is to-die-for and all of my friends love. So, if you have the bucks, then absolutely wow her.

Better not make her mad: When I’m doing back flips to keep the grocery bill to $120/week, I can’t say I’d be enchanted to find myself sitting in a restaurant where the bill and tip peak out at $175. We love an inexpensive, but good, Mexican restaurant that we rarely see the inside of with little kids. Great compromise.

As for not wanting to eat with the herd? Pick another night: that was easy. (Or together, choose an Un-Valentine’s date that you both agree on. A romantic evening does not have to fall on Feb. 14.)

And when everything is ridiculously expensive and you can’t fathom paying close to $500 for one night? Well, you have a point. After all, we’re mommies and daddies. We’re not sixteen year olds blowing wads on prom night. We still have mortgages and electric bills to pay the following day.

When the gauntlet has been thrown down and a daddy-in-love has been challenged to woo his fair lady — does he wimp out with blather about manufactured holidays and overblown prices? No! A real daddy-in-love puts on his shiniest suit of Armor, unsheaths his sword of creativity and heads out to slay the Valentine’s dragon. (Our heroes.)

To read more on this vital subject:

Five Best Things to Tell a Mommy (if You’re a Daddy)

Ten Valentine Tips for Exhausted Mommies and Daddies

Romantic Travel — romance with the kids in tow? Check it out!

Life is hard? Pul-ease. Well said by someone who is possibly not married. Those of us on the front lines know better: keeping a long term marriage alive and jazzy is the truly hard thing. Life itself is a piece of tiramisu compared to living, and attempting to raise children, with someone day-in and day-out.

To give mommies and daddies at least a fighting chance (oops sorry, I meant: a solid chance) Romance and the Mommy offers up our eight best reads ever for the CEO’s of the family: Chief Executive Octopus. (If you don’t get it, you’re not a mommy.)

1. The Five Love Languages by Dr. Gary Chapman. This book is written by a Christian minister, but if that puts you off: don’t let it. This book delves into how you vs. your husband demonstrate (and register) love. Example: does talking with your husband say “love” to you? Or is love a more action oriented thing? It’s not about guys vs. gals either: we’re all different. Some men like to talk (it’s true! I totally met one once!) Some women love “touch” (oh, and “touch” does not refer to sex in this case).

2. Kosher Sex by Schmuley Boteach. After reading this book, you will never look at a Hasidic Jewish Rabbi quite the same again. Apparently married Jewish people are having incredible sex because they’ve taken it from a let’s-get-hammered-and-go-for-it type of place and lifted it onto an exalted spiritual alter. If I just took all the excitement out of it for you — ignore me. Rabbi Boteach does a phenomenal job showing how a hot sex life with your spouse — with a few good rules sprinkled in — can create a lusty marriage.

3. The Seven Principles to Make a Marriage Work by John Gottman. This guy is all about studying the science of marriages. He wants just the facts, mam. None of that theory business alone for him. By studying couples in his “love lab” in Washington State, Dr. Gottman has discovered all kinds of interesting things. Example: he can tell within minutes which couples will make it and which are toast. And he’s learned a bundle of info. for making marriages last.

4. The Secrets of Happily Married Men by Scott Haltzman, M.D. My husband raved about this book and he’s sooo not a therapy-heals kind of guy. He’s more like, “You want to pay $110/hr. to someone to make us talk about our relationship? Good one, Hon. Move, Babe, I can’t see the screen.” Read our full review here on this he-man gem.

5. Getting the Love You Want by Harville Hendrix, MD. This one has been around for a couple of decades now. If you missed it the first time, catch it now. Full of incredibly good points and explanations that — if practiced by the two of you — will bring a deeper understanding and empathy to your marriage.

6. Living with the Passive-Aggressive Man by Scott Wetzler. Not that I don’t love hearing my husband announce at a dinner party that I always . . . never mind. Let’s just say I turned flame red that night and hissed between clenched teeth (when everyone was out of earshot) “please don’t tell the world that I always. . .” again — never you mind.

Passive-aggressive men are somewhat the norm — at least I hope they are. I’d hate to think that I’m totally alone in dealing with someone who jabs at the oddest moments. But here’s the rub: women with their own issues pick these kind of men. I can’t shout it from a high enough mountain — read this book if you even have the teeniest sense that you’re dealing with a husband with PA tendencies.

7. The Dance of Anger and The Dance of Intimacy by Harriet Goldhor Lerner. This brilliant woman distills difficult therapy concepts into slim texts that you’ll want to dip into again and again. Harriet’s books aren’t written for couples but every woman on the planet will grow like crazy. Super recommended.

8. The Millionaire Next Door. My husband and I read this book back in the early ’90’s and, would you believe, we still refer to it today. It totally put us on the same money page. Don’t get this one at the library: buy it and read it once a year or so. Then make your kids read it too.

Warning: these eight reads can lead to high levels of (com) passion in your marriage. (You can thank me later. You’re probably too busy at the moment. Wink.)

At Romance and the Mommy, you might also want to check out:

5 Best Things to Tell a Mommy (if you’re a Daddy)

10 Valentine Tips for Exhausted Mommies and Daddies

And don’t miss our picks of Valentine’s lingerie in Mommy’s Lingerie Boutique.