Valentine’s Day. 1989.
I sat in my classroom, eagerly clutching my shoe box that had been converted the night before to hold valentines. A slit had been cut in the top to deposit the small envelopes. How many would I get? Would I receive the most? What if no one gave me a valentine? What kind of loser would that make me? Would he ask me to be his valentine? I remember clutching my box of hearts, delighted and anxious to tip them over on my desk and begin to count.
Looking to bring back a bit of that nostalgia, I went to CVS to get some valentines for Sophie to send out. Naturally, I had fifteen minutes to get them in the mail for last pick-up. As I perused the aisles stuffed with cheap candy and lovey dovey junk, I marveled at the lack of simple valentines. Where were all the cute hearts? The simple, heart felt valentines? I was stuck with Star Wars, Hello Kitty or origami. I chose origami and let out a string of curses as I attempted to fold them in anything remotely resembling origami. If anyone asked me, I’d tell them Sophie did it. I put the pen in her hand and let her sign her name and hustled her back in the Ergo down the street to deposit them in the mailbox.
On this Valentine’s Day, I hid a card under Alex’s workout clothes and discovered a card from him on the steering wheel and another one balanced against our bathroom mirror early this morning. As I pored over his words, I felt my breath quicken and my heart flip. How I love this man…
We are a family of cards and letters. They take up glass jars, bins and have even been compiled into journals and books. To look back on all that we have shared reminds me how lucky I am.
Would I kill to go out on a romantic dinner with him, even though I don’t really buy into V Day? Absolutely.
Instead, I snuggle with my valentine. I lay beside her, both of our bellies touching. I listen to her breathe and sigh as she drifts to sleep. I decide to destroy our kitchen for the thirtieth time this morning and make some of Heather Crosby’s delicious beet and kale cocoa muffins (sans frosting).
I rearrange furniture and tick items off my to-do list.
I think about how weird my life has become; and how last Saturday night, the most interesting thing I did was ask to see Alex’s asshole. (Yes, this really happened.)
“What?” he screeched. “Why?!”
“Because I’ve never seen it. I bet it’s really cute. Let me see it.”
“Let me see your asssshollllllle!”
I screamed like a toddler, face turning red, cheeks puffed, fists balled.
We bantered like this for minutes, until I realized what we were actually bantering about. While people were out, doing all sorts of things, I was asking to see my husband’s corn hole. What is wrong with me????
I think an intervention might be in order soon. But, in another way, you can tell you really love someone when you ask to get so personal.
I love my husband. I love all of him… I love him when things are great, when they’re bad, when he’s moody or tired or quiet. I hope to always bring this unconditional element to Sophie’s life; to teach her to love hard and often and to get to the core of someone… She just might have to do some digging (but hopefully she will never ask to see someone’s butt hole). I will have to draw the line there.
Happy Love Day!