I've scorned Valentine's Day for ages. Probably since I was past the age where you had to give a valentine to every kid in the class and thought those Conversation Hearts actually tasted good. My scorn has only gotten stronger over the years, as I have realized how much I dislike the cliche of red roses, how terrible tasting most Valentine's Day chocolate is, and how people make such an overblown frenzy over one arbitrary day. Really, if you need to do that for your relationship, you need some help.
The first year we were dating, Seth and I happened to be in New York on Valentine's Day. I'd already told him that I did not want nor expect anything special for that day, and that I would not be doing anything for him. He didn't really believe me. We walked through Chinatown in the cold, and he kept offering to buy me jewelry that he saw in the windows, kept asking me if I was sure I didn't want anything. He was very wary of making some terrible error. I grinned, because I was sure, but also because he did keep asking, because he did want me to be happy, and it was totally endearing.
My birthday falls a week after Valentine's Day anyhow, and I'd much rather have everyone focus their money, time and energy on appropriately celebrating my birth month week day.
Since then, we've gone comfortably about ignoring Valentine's Day. Until this year. Something about this year made me feel like doing something. Really, someone:
This girl, the one with the eyelashes and the curls, the one who loves to get cards in the mail from her grandmothers and aunties and cousins, who insists on putting the cards in her bed to sleep with sometimes, who gets so excited about the little details of holidays, like candles and presents and singing. This girl, she made me want to cut out snowflake hearts, buy cheesy plush animals bearing satin hearts at the CVS, and heart-shaped chocolates.
I admit, I didn't actually do any of those things, but I did make macaroni and cheese, because does anything else really say "I love you" better than this hot, luscious carbo-cheesy comfort in a bowl? (Well, ok, maybe bacon.)
It was really my husband who was the hero of Valentine's Day. I unexpectedly got new heart-printed pajamas --silly, soft and sweet, all at once --bought for me to replace some favorites that were accidentally left in a hotel room long ago. He brought the girl her own Valentine card, and brought us both flowers, a single, quite perfect rose for the girl, a bouquet of sweet-smelling blooms for me. Of course, the girl wanted to cradle my bouquet proudly in her arms, and declared the flowers "MINE!" as we showed her how to trim the stems and put them in water. We opened a good bottle of wine (which, in our house, is one that cost more than about $11) enjoyed the scent of flowers as we talked over our macaroni and some little bites of chocolate that I'd unearthed from the cabinet. We hugged, we laughed, we said "I love you" to each other, all of us. Somehow, somehow, this cheesiest of holidays which I so scorn really did bring us all closer together, warm us on a chilly, windy February night, make us all remember why we love each other so much.
"You are my Valentine," I told my daughter. "That means you are my heart."
Comments