Happy St. Valentine's!

I figure with the rest of the world trying to shorten "Valentine's" to "V," either to resemble the similarly shortened the "V" Monologues (and thus make Valentine's Day a celebration of that anatomical morsel), to remove traces of the saint for whom the day is named, or from the sheer linguistic laziness that is so prevalent, especially in electronic media, I will keep the "Saint" and the "Valentine" and forget the "Day"--at least in my title.

Actually, I almost did forget the day! It's been an exhausting week since last Wednesday, when my daughter developed a stomach virus right before beginning her Amoxil for an earache. So today, since things have calmed down and for the first time since last Tuesday, I was the only one home (my husband was also sick for a few days & I was happy to have him home, but not happy that he was unwell!), I tried to get back in my routine while getting a little emotional rest & reading the book I've been working on for pleasure. It occurred to me mid-morning that it was Valentine's Day, something I remembered before going to bed (after midnight), but had forgotten by the morning.

Valentine's Day is a curious holiday for me. In spite of its origin with a saint who was martyred for his covert celebration of sacramental marriage, it seems to be largely enjoyed by a category of people best described as single-yet-attached. It is a holiday peopled by clueless men. It is the holiday of expectant or disappointed women, of expectant or disappointed men. These thoughts occurred to me while driving around this evening among the flurry of excitement, or walking around stores observing the last minute purchases--and purchasers.

When my husband & I first found each other, we shared a mutual dislike of the holiday, having never had someone to share it with. We therefore threw ourselves into it the purchasing of gifts and cards with gusto our first few years. There was one year of disappointment after our first child was born, as I was unable to go shopping and regretfully, did not manage to contrive a gift. This post was intended to be about my changing attitude towards the holiday: the fluctuation from dislike to excitement, to sentimentality, to something not quite resembling apathy--more the quiet feeling that accompanies the opportunity to appreciate having someone that I love deeply, while acknowledging that cards and gifts do not have the power to express this love (especially after the anniversary of our Convalidation in October, his birthday in November, Christmas in December, my birthday in January. . . we're gifted out by this time!). This was how I envisioned the Valentine post this afternoon, as I sat rocking my baby to sleep: I was going to commemorate the holiday by downplaying it a bit, mentioning the beauty of everyday love and the hassle and expense of finding babysitters.

My intentions changed when, as I was sitting on our futon reading, my husband walked in with a dozen pink roses. It really is amazing how moving a small gesture can be, and it was all the more moving since, unlike the multitudes of women who woke up this morning or went out this evening, I had not expected it!

We moved through the rest of the evening doing ordinary things: we went to dinner (with the kids!), went to Target to buy ourselves iTunes cards, ran in to a store or two for essentials. An ordinary, yet extraordinary, romantic evening.