A mushy Valentine's Day post written by the sap in me
Happy Valentine’s Day, kiddos! I hope you’re able to take some time and cherish your loved ones today, even if it's as something as small as simply saying, "I love you". That’s not to say we shouldn’t be cherishing our loves ones every day, but I am guilty of getting swept up in the romance and fun of pink and red hearts, chocolates, and flowers.
|Why are these cupcakes not in |
or around my mouth right now?
Valentine’s Day was always super fun in elementary school, and I always looked forward to going to the store with my mom to pick out the Valentines I would sign for my classmates. My box of cards was typically puppy or Lisa Frank-themed (obviously), and sometimes my mom would even allow my sister and I to tape a little piece of candy to the envelopes (My best friends always got two pieces). When I got to school on the big day, each of my classmates had paper bags decorated with glitter and stickers tacked to the blackboard, waiting to be filled with the delicious goodies and cards. I remember almost dying from embarrassment in second grade when a curly-headed blonde boy, who was eternally in love with me and tried to kiss me every day at recess, dropped a one-pound chocolate heart that said “I Love You” into my bag and caused it to fall off the blackboard. Boys were disgusting. I was humiliated.
Fast forward to junior high and middle school and Valentine’s Day suddenly sucked. Never having a boyfriend or anything remotely close except for my secret crushes that I talked about incessantly in my diary, I would wake up every morning on Valentine’s Day with a renewed feeling of hope that maybe, just maybe the popular guy who had I had never talked to and who had no idea I liked him would choose that special day to tape a bouquet of roses to my locker and confess his undying teenage love for me. So, you can imagine the heart-crushing disappointment I felt right around 2:45 when the final bell rang and I was no closer to having my romantic fairytale. I’d watch the popular, pretty girls prance up and down the hallways with their single red rose and tiny box of chocolates and suddenly want to slit my wrists.
But now, as a married woman, I can finally appreciate and actually anticipate Valentine’s Day again. However, it holds a completely different meaning for me than it did as a little girl who only had classroom parties and received a vase of carnations from her father. Now I finally understand the romantic aspect of the holiday and the universal message to celebrate everyone we love, not just spouses or boyfriends. I wish I could build a time machine and go back in time to find 14-year old me (I wouldn’t be hard to miss. I’d be the girl standing awkwardly in the hallway with self-cut bangs and acne wearing softball sweats and staring at the ground. Gosh, was it a wonder I never dated?). I would tell her not to worry so much about stupid boys who couldn’t express feelings beyond “I want to touch your boobies” and “I’m sad that you’re not letting me touch your boobies.” I’d tell her that at that age, Valentine’s Day is nothing more than a social standing and the exchange of silly trinkets wasn’t so much about legitimate affection as it was about keeping up appearances. I’d reassure her to keep on waiting because one day, a handsome lad with a scruffy beard and a big black truck would pop into her life and won't need flowers or candy to make her feel special every day.
But welcome to my life. My husband is so ridiculously wonderful that every day we spend together is vomit-inducing.
I don’t care that some people say Valentine’s Day is a holiday built on nothing more than consumerism. I don’t care if it’s just a government ploy to make the floral industry millions of dollars. WHO CARES?! How can any holiday that celebrates love be inherently bad?