I’d had a year of zen-nursing hormones. While on that heady brain cocktail, I’d felt lush, lovely, generous, and magic. I lolled about, MAKING FOOD WITH MY BOUNTEOUS LOVELINESS. I exulted in my physicalness, my true animal self, looking at Scott all bright-eyed, my baby in my arms, saying, “I REALLY AM A MAMMAL! LOOK! I WAS A MAMMAL THE WHOLE TIME!” in delighted, reverent tones.
As Sam transitioned to people food, the hormone-crazy swung the other way. Suddenly, lush changed in my head to huge and swollen and lumpy. Magic was replaced by sour and smelly and repulsive. I felt suddenly about as kissable as cattle, as enticing as a milk cow.
Now, anyone who knows me well knows I am not a big DATES girl. I don’t remember birthdays and I don’t much care about MY birthday. I have no idea when Mother’s Day is. I forget that October ends in Halloween EVERY YEAR and have to scramble up some candy at the last second and my kids always had to pick through the costume leavings in late late late October. I used to know my anniversary because it was engraved in my ring, but then I got a tenth anniversary band, and that tenth one was the last anniversary I ever noticed happening.
Scott is the same way. Well, he KNOWS what the date is, but he doesn’t CARE about that studff. Between my date-challenged nature and his apathy about holiday traditions, even Christmas can sneak up on us. We never even got a TREE up last year. Our collective family will get nothing for a slew of birthdays and then a sudden bouquet 3 weeks after the fourth missed one. They all either love us anyway or just keep their loathing kindly to themselves.
SO Valentines day happened. This was not a day where we had EVER done things for each other. I never knew when it was and he didn’t care. But that year?
I got Scott a card and some gummy hearts. And I gave them to him that morning, and in my crazy UGLY-FAT-MILK-COW-feeling head, I had this thought that he would WITH NO HINTS OR WARNING FROM ME THAT IT MATTERED do something crazy romatic and great to let me know HE still wanted to kiss me, anyway. Because I needed him to.
He looked up from the card, stricken, and said, “Oh, I didn’t realize we were doing anything. We don’t usually do anything…I mean we never…”
And I said, “Oh, that’s okay. I know we don’t. It isn’t important. I don’t care, really. Not at all. No big deal.”
And then I burst into tears and cried and cried and cried and cried and cried until I threw up.
SO! That was fun.
The next year, I got up on Valentine’s Day to find the kitchen had been transformed into a pink and red streamer-coated balloon filled gooey love wonderland and he had made a mix tape and written me a really for true love letter and gotten me flowers and a HUGE thing of delightful chocolates, and he presented all this with MUCH love (and a teeny bit of lingering terror) in his eyes.
Valentine’s Day has kinda been a thing we do, ever since, and THANK GOD for the big displays they do at Publix or I would never know it was happening.
This year, SNOWMAGEDDON PART 2: THE ATLANTAN UNDOING happened, and he couldn’t get out of the HOUSE to prep anything. SO we went out to dinner and canoodled and made eyes over delicious crab fritters at Float away Café, and he told me about this fellow we know —Let’s call him James—who had an even worse one.
A couple V-days ago, James was dating a lady, and he realized he was feeling very serious about her. Very serious indeed. He realized he was wanting this relationship to deepen and stay, and that he was in it for real, for life, for marriage.
So for Valentines day, he got her a card, and in it, he helpfully wrote her a helpful list of ALL THE THINGS SHE COULD DO BETTER IF SHE WANTED THE RELATIONSHIP TO CONTINUE.
Bahahhahaha. I love boys. Like, it came from a place of, NOW I AM SERIOUS and THINKING IN TERMS OF FOREVER. But how do you think that read to her? She took the card, read the list, stood up, looke d at him, and just got up and WALKED silently out.
Well it has a happy ending. The next year, he made her a different list—everything he loves best about her, everything that makes his heart go all sparkle- pop when he looks at her.
They are married now.
This is LATE, I am backed up on blog entries because THE BOOK IS GOING and I have been writing it like crazy. But do belated love with me, please? Tell me your best or worst?.