Be Mine

Time to get to work on your tiny heart treats and homemade Valentine’s. After all, isn’t Valentine’s day the most special day of the year when it comes to love? Keely ponders her history with the day of chubby cherubs…

My expectations on Valentine’s day have always been ridiculously high.

Maybe I should blame my parents for that one. They were the folks that made each Valentine’s Day dinner seem special, from fancy tablecloths and place settings to trinkets wrapped in red cellophane at each of our plates. I remain convinced that red cellophane is the gold standard for fanciness, at least for people you purport to love. And I still have the handmade bear that my mother, after we fell asleep, crafted for each of us on her sewing machine. Regardless of her scoffs that she didn’t know what she was doing, a yellow bear with a red “Keely” heart now sits atop my daughter’s treasured lovie pile.

Or perhaps it’s the classroom party phenomena. There’s just something tingly about making an envelope for the front of one’s desk – literally, anything could be put inside it! I’m not entirely certain whom I thought would be declaring their undying love amongst my third grade peers – or even if I wanted such a proclamation. But it was possible, and so I wore my gold heart necklace and most stylish red and pink embroidered sweater. Even if True Love was not to be mine in 1988, at least there were Mrs. Andrews’ opulent confections of big, pink frosted hearts. (She was the mother of a childhood pal – after those parties, we all wanted to play at Susen’s house.)

But then again, it was probably my best friends in high school who are to blame. Even though we were often [unthinkably] single, we used to buy roses outside the cafeteria to be sent to one another throughout the day. It warmed the heart to receive declarations of love from Matthew Perry and Matt Le Blanc – among others – sent via Ace, Frankie and Lucky, which we had inexplicably dubbed ourselves.

Then came college. And oh how those boys tried. But for the most part, they were just that: boys. There were some genuinely sweet gestures and dates; a hand-drawn card depicting our nicknames for one another (what IS my deal with nicknames?), a magical jaunt to the Yankee Candle outlet, and jasmine tea in London’s Victoria Square (I was studying there at the time, no plane fare was involved.) But even I’ll admit, the pressure of twenty four straight hours of “special” has got to be more than a little exhausting.

Eventually I met the guy who would become my husband. And I knew that fact way earlier than he did. That did not, however, lower the standards for The Day. There were the confused arguments (“You want to go out to dinner?” “No!” “I don’t understand what you mean by fancy.” “Something SPECIAL!”) He always came through, even though I teased him mercilessly about the cards he chose each year: gorgeous sentiments inscribed with a heartfelt messages… in unsealed envelopes. (“Pretend you bought it more than an hour ago, P.J.“ “You don’t know that I didn’t.“ “It’s still in the Walgreens bag.“)

Then there was the arrival of our daughter, which changed everything. Suddenly, the idea of expecting an event that would require money, a sitter or a shower seemed a little lofty. Still, we celebrated. I made sparkly Valentines – and used my infant daughter’s thumbprints to form miniature inky hearts- and declared hooded sweatshirts the sexiest holiday clothing ever. We ate sugar-free pudding out of vintage stemware and fell asleep during old movies.

But recently it hit me. Instead of rolling my eyes whenever my confused husband would ask what would make something fancy, I took a look at what the guy did the other 364 days a year:

• After the recent blizzard, he took me outside to make snow angels – and didn’t laugh when I destroyed mine while trying to get back up.

• In an argument, he never calls me a jerk – even if I clearly am – and always apologizes first.

• I haven’t touched the cat litter since early ‘09.

• He knows when and how to draw the perfect bath, when to shove me into it, and when it’s time to “suggest” going to bed.

• Every night when he gets home from work, his first stop is the top of the stairs to grab our waiting daughter. His second stop is the living room where they dance.

• His spaghetti carbonara is to die for – and he even puts it on a red, heart-shaped plate.

Regardless of the day, some people just get how to make things special.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 9th, 2011 at 7:20 am. It is filed under Being Mama, Motherhood and tagged with Love, Relationships, Valentine's. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.