Happy Valentine's Day. I guess.

 

Happy Valentine's Day. I guess.

I'm kind of on the fence about this holiday.

My husband and I used to not even acknowledge it's passing. We might even have been a little self-congratulatory about our non-participation in the silly, corporate holiday where people engage in forced acts of showing love, usually by purchasing something.

But then, year by year, little by little, our romance dwindled from thrilling love-sickness 365 days/year into a normal, functioning relationship. At some point long ago, the surprise flowers on my car ceased - as did the surprise anything. There are no more long love letters penned in his small, neat print. No more adoring songs (okay, there was only ever two, but that's two way more than there is now.) The torrential flow of sweet, just-because gestures dwindled to a trickle.

So one February, realizing this shift, I informed my husband we would now be celebrating Valentine's Day; he was no longer excused from putting forth an extra effort on this day. I will take the forced show of appreciation and/or love, thank you very much. I will take the corporate capitalisation, the tchotske I don't need, the candy I could buy myself, whatever it is, I'll take it. Corny. Forced. Yes; henceforth we will be celebrating our love on February 14th.

It's probably not fair to say the romance "dwindled" though. Rather, it changed.

Instead of showing his love with special plans together or heartfelt letters, my husband's love tends to show in daily action, (as does most husband's.) Now, his love looks more like this: emptying the dishwasher early in the morning, making sure the car is filled with gas, getting up with the kids, leaving the comfy couch for me when we watch TV late at night, or better yet, squeezing (uncomfortably) next to me on it, stroking my hair while I try to fall asleep...

Sometimes true love just looks like daily consideration when thousands of days have already passed together.

I don't much care about flowers or surprises. (Good thing.) What I want is his continued love in action, day after day.

Don't tell him though. I like to see what he comes up with on Valentine's Day.

 

 

So, Happy Valentine's Day y'all! I hope you feel loved in the small, everyday ways,
and maybe in a special way today too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You may also like:

 

Marriage and Midnight Spiders

Special and Not-So-Special Occasions

Special and Not-So-Special Occassions

 

My husband and I recently celebrated our 10-Year Anniversary.

We awoke on this momentous, romantic day to the screams of our daughter at 6 AM, who had just face-planted after discovering she can climb out of her crib. The rest of the morning unfolded with a bath for a pee-soaked 5-year old who had wet the bed, and some general morning-scrambling in my attempt to arrive at work promptly.  

I forgot it was our anniversary.

Then my husband handed me a latte (a Friday treat we always engage in), gave me a hug – with our daughter trying to squeeze in between and our son hollering from the TV, "Can somebody make me breakfast?"

"Happy Anniversary," he said casually.

"Oh ya, Happy Anniversary," I replied.

That's just the way life is sometimes, right? Or for normal people it is anyway. Even momentous occasions get an "oh yeah." And that's okay. Granted, we did get a fantastic weekend away to celebrate earlier in the month, so NO complaints here. But even if we didn't, that would be okay too.

His hug makes me happy. The waking up to another good day with my family - to a good relationship with my husband - makes me happy. Oh, and the latte helps too.

 

10 years ago, we were young kids, blessed by the generosity of our parents with a beautiful wedding and garden-reception. It was simply fantastic. All of those people we love gathered together for days of festivities; a year of planning well-executed into enjoyment, comfort, and memories; the beauty of the event… It was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience for us.

"Wouldn't it be great if we could have the reception with everyone again, every anniversary?" I mused to my husband.

"No. Because that would mean I would have to go to a bunch of those every year" replied my effusive, sentimental man.

Last year was The Chicken Sandwich Anniversary, as we celebrated our 9th year of wedded bliss by taking our 2 kids to Chic Fil A for dinner and watching them play in the enclosed play-area. And we all enjoyed it too. (Hum, maybe we should have gone again this year...)

Every beautiful and special thing does not have to be celebrated in a beautiful and special way. More often, life is simple. The joy is found in a content, thankful attitude – in a chicken sandwich or a hug and a latte.

So today, here's to good marriages. And, here's to the specialness of the rare, really big celebrations in our lives - and the rest of the time, to celebrating big things in little ways.

The Family Photo

The idyllic family photo: everyone wants one, or many, spanning across the years of their growing family.

I’ve been a bit behind in partaking in this ritual, never yet having had professional portraits taken. I knew it would happen eventually, I just figured we could wait until our family was complete to try for that lovely photo that gets blown-up onto a canvas and hung above a mantel.

So, while I lack a mantel, I do have a family that is complete and so it was about time.

With a session booked, I voraciously went to work coordinating outfits. After all, putting together any four complete outfits is a chore, but these must go together in such a way as to not clash - but yet avoid bringing back visions of the matching 80's family picture wherein everyone has on the same color shirt and the same color pants to go with their big hair. Coordination that looks accidental is the goal. (And there will be no big hair.)

 

I pick up a new shirt for my son and a new blouse for myself. I open my husband’s closet and pick a dress shirt in the right color family. Then for my daughter: she'll need a darling dress. And a sweater to go with it. And tights. And a bow. And matching shoes.

Nice, coordinated outfits for all: done.

During what is otherwise a month of continual sunshine, the morning of my family’s shoot arrives with rain in the forecast. It is unseasonably cold and the wind is ripping across our coastal city. However, it took my sweet photographer and me two months to settle on a date that worked with everyone’s schedules; we're not canceling.

So, the four of us roll up to our meeting place, in said outfits, in the middle of a coastal storm.

We attempted to arrange a time of day in which our infant daughter will (A) be awake and (B) not be eating. This of course fails miserably; she falls asleep on the drive there and is cranky when we arrive. She wants to eat and completely lacks interest in gracing the photographer with her face. This is fun. Also, her specially ordered shoes and little pink headband will not stay on no matter how many times I reapply them.

My son is so cold I pull his old, fleece jacket from the back of the car and slip it on over his new shirt. So much for my meticulous coordinating.

My husband is notorious for eyes-closed photos, so while he has given this day no premeditation whatsoever, he is currently feeling stressed over the pressure to make sure his eyes are open in each shot. He doesn’t want to get blamed for "spoiling" the one good picture.

And, I'm discovering it was inaccurate to assume I had a pair of jeans that would fit in this post-maternity, but-no-longer-wearing-maternity stage. To the contrary, I find myself in a strange pair I didn’t know I owned that are, I’m pretty sure, cutting off blood-flow to the organs beneath the cinched-tight waist.

…Yes, just perfect. We are ready to capture that flawless moment of beauty to idolize on the wall of our home for years to come.
                                                     
Or maybe not flawless. Maybe just a picture of us, as we are.

My son, who crabbily tolerated this entire affair so as to get a promised hot chocolate at the end, will have blue lips and an ugly jacket on in every picture. But he'll smile his perfectly sweet almost-4-yr-old smile at least a few times. My husband will look perfectly handsome, every time he manages to keep his squinty eyes open. My daughter’s astonishingly-long baby-hair will flop wildly into her eyes, sans the headband that won’t stay on, and she will rarely look up from her knees. But this is her at 4 months, precious in her still young infancy. And as for myself, well, let's just say that I won't see myself with the magnifying glass that you do before you have multiple other people to also get right in a photo.

So, we will just be us - genuine us - to hang on our mantel-less wall.



 

Check out my awesome photographer at:

http://www.lynnhaywardphotography.com/

Marriage & Midnight Spiders

From the peaceful dreamland of my slumber, I am awakened with a shove. Then comes the frantic shouts of my husband, “Get up! Jen, get up!”

“What?”

I must say it half a dozen times, with increasing indignation, as my confused mind tries to process.

“There’s a huge spider! Get up!” he shouts at me. He flips on the assaultingly-bright light. I squint at him; look at the clock; 2 AM. I climb out of the bed.

Standing there as he flips back the covers, I say, “It was dark, you didn’t see a spider.” My reply is surprisingly rational but less confident than is warranted.

Not sure if I am angry, scared, or just really confused, I walk out of the room to go to the bathroom and I listen to him continue to rummage through the blankets and shift the mattress around until he finally wakes up enough to let go of the dream. I see the bedroom light go back off. He is realizing the insanity of what just transpired.

I get back in bed, only slightly afraid a massive tarantula is going to eat my face in my sleep.

Living with someone is strange. We have been married for nearly 10 years now, and it’s still strange.

The shared spaces, the exposure, the honesty… someone next to you, farting in your bed… someone always next to you, getting ready for a date side-by-side with the person you’re going on the date with, bathroom doors left open, conversations from the toilet… conversations run dry. The surprises; the lack of surprise. The friendship. The understanding… the not understanding; the forgiveness. The companionship. The trust.

The love that puts up with middle-of-the-night spider hunts and laughs about it together in the morning.

The love that endures all the strange and shines brighter than all the follies and faults - the love of a marriage.