My feelings about Valentine’s Day have run the gamut over the years – from loving it as a child, and wanting to wear pink-and-red things to school to celebrate… to loathing it in my teen years, when no matter how much wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’ I did, it just didn’t get me into his arms. At all. Not once. Bah, humbug.
As I recall, when I was about fifteen years old, after weeks and weeks of wishin’ and hopin’ and schemin’ and plottin’ with my very best friend in the world about just how I was going to snag The Man Boy of My Dreams, she stole away with him after the school Valentine’s Dance and did all kinds of kissy-kissy things with him, which she confessed to me the next day.
Yeah. I know. Boo! Hiss!!
Anyway, I believe ever since I just set the bar for love and romance so ridiculously high, there was no way not to have my dreams completely dashed. No gesture was big enough. No words were sweet enough. I think I was once expecting a marriage proposal on that day too. (So VERY wrong I was…) But still. For years I was all TO HELL with the whole damned day… it’s all a big fat commercial manufactured holiday anyway… I’d accept whatever came my way with a half-hearted shrug, and just want to hunker down in my self-imposed misery until the 15th of February.
Sidenote: Ungraciousness is a bad colour on everyone.
My husband and I have been together for sixteen years. Valentine’s Day always falls during a busy stretch of time during his work life, and he logs some late hours at the office during the early days of February. In years past, I had a business that kept me relatively busy with deliveries and things, and I’d be running all day long… and very tired by day’s end. There’s almost always been some kind of snow storm too. Even the best of plans can get waylaid by sleet in the city.
Enter the children, and school-like forays, and I had to step up my game a little bit. There were crafts and cards to make, wee boxes of chocolates to wrap up, white cupcakes to frost with pink icing. Writing I love you on little snippets of red paper… it’s kind of adorable, the delightfulness of something unexpected.
And therein lies the key, I think: to do something a bit unexpected for someone you love. Or even for someone you like. This has nothing to do with satin boxes full of crappy chocolates, or fist-sized strawberries dipped in fondant. Unless you like that sort of thing. (But you should totally neck-punch anyone who tries to give you a teddy bear with #1 Lover embroidered on the front. I’m just sayin’.)
Ghandi said, “You must be the change you wish to see in the world…” I believe one should probably be the valentine one wants too. Even if unrequited, it’s the thought that counts – which might be the best part about the whole stupid day.
It IS a commercial holiday, full of expensive trappings of The Expected stuff. It’s more important to feel the love every day… and more important to BE the Valentine you want. After all, love is a verb, not a noun. Love is something you do.
And so, I will dig into my stash of beautiful paper and crafty things, and get to writing a love letter. It’s been ages since I’ve written him one (you know, excluding email) and I don’t mean I love you like the summer rain kinds of useless drivel. We’ve been together for years… I love him more than I did before, but also differently than I once did. The changes of time and children and stage-of-life have a way of doing that. I’m having a blast with this guy… I should tell him that. (And I do… but it’s sometimes different when you write it down.)
And though I may never receive flowery words in return, he does say awesome things like what he said to me just last night:
Him: Those leggings look really good on you. You have a nice ass.
Me: Really? Wow. Just when I was thinking I’m not a leggings girl…
Him: No really, you should wear them more often. You have nice curves. I like looking at them.
Me: Well, aren’t you cute.
He smiles at me in a pure, uncomplicated kind of way. He is happy.
Me: You’re… that’s just… Martin, that’s a really nice thing to say. Thank you.
Him: You’re welcome. *brings drink to his lips and mumbles* Happy Valentine’s Day.
Me: Ohmygodyousuck… *rolls eyes and gives him the finger* Whatever. I’ll take it.
Aaaaaand scene.
How’s that for suave? I know. Try not to be jealous.
But for realz, I love that he still makes me laugh my guts out. I suppose that makes him My Funny Valentine. (Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk…) It’s okay with me that we don’t do much to celebrate. We drink some champagne and make or order in a nice dinner. That’s enough.
Go forth… do and say what counts for something on Valentine’s Day to the people you love. That’s the only stuff that matters anyway – on any given day. Surprises are fun, but saying what’s true means the most.
Try to do it every day. 🙂
damn Nanc…you beat me to this! My dad doesn’t know what ‘bogs’ are – but he tries to read them…and I give him the finger too – does that count???
believe me – you don’t have to convince me of this!I have travelled that road!!!
You’re lovely just as you are, dear… xox
Not cheating, I promise… just… slutty, that’s all. Heh.
And wait! Surely your husband must be curious and lurks sometimes… (And no, I didn’t just call your husband “Shirley.”)
Bird-flipping is highly underrated, no? Hee!!
My husband never reads my blogs, either
Oh yeah, I don’t have a husband.
That is so sweet…and I thought I was your favourite. You cheatin’ on me?
My husband doesn’t even read my blog dudes! I flip him the bird too…in a nice way, of course.
Happy V day all.
Awww….how sweet. My husband has never commented on my blog.
(And I always flip him the bird)
I like YOU, Ms. Unexpected… you’re my favourite. Happy Valentine’s right back, babe. 😉
I LIVE for the unexpected. It is maybe my very favourite word.
I like this whole darn post. Happy Valentine’s Mr and Mrs Grumbler
Do I know you?
Wow. I am one lucky dude. Beautiful blog. Much like your 2,000 body parts!
M xox