valentine’s day » Stop, Drop and Blog

I Don’t Hate Love

Feb 142012

I was shopping with a friend a few weeks ago. As I helped her decide which things to buy and which to put back, I picked up a pair of pants she had picked up for her daughter.

“No. Put these back.”

“But why? They’re so cute!”

“There are hearts on them.”

“What’s wrong with hearts?”

“I don’t like hearts.”

“You HATE LOVE?”

– __ — __ —

I don’t hate love. Hearts maybe, but not love.

If you have ever spent time with me in February, you know that I don’t get excited about Valentine’s Day. FireDad and I don’t “celebrate” the “holiday.” There are no gifts. There is no expectation of gifts. We don’t exchange cards — though I occasionally break the rules and give him a snort-worthy card from Robin Plemmons who I didn’t know when I first starting giving them to him and then I met her at Type-A and now am even more amused because he met her at BlogHer ’11 as well. Also, I don’t like chocolate. No really.

I just can’t get into the fanfare. Like disliking chocolate — and hearts — something is probably inherently wrong with me.

But I don’t hate love.

– __ — __ –

I helped BigBrother get to school today with his Spiderman valentine cards to give his friends. He didn’t have to make and take a box this year as his teacher helped each student make one that apparently looks like a bear; I can’t wait to see it. I reminded him to be on his best behavior since everyone was bound to be keyed up today.

He jumped out and left me behind.

I smiled as I drove away, heading back home to get busy on my day which does, in fact, involve heart shaped things. I pulled up to a nearby intersection and saw something on the road. At first they looked like baseball cards. As the words, “that’s odd,” popped into one side of my brain, my poor, anti-Valentine, Grinchy little heart realized what I was seeing scattered across an intersection two blocks from the school.

Valentines.

A line of cars waited behind me, so I continued all the way home. I parked in my driveway. I went inside. I got more coffee. I sat down. I got back up again. I got back in my car. I drove back to the intersection.

I just kept imagining some poor child, dropping his Valentine’s on the way to school. Maybe not noticing. Maybe too scared to stand in the middle of a busy morning intersection and pick them up. Maybe running late and not wanting to get in trouble. It was all I could do to keep from crying, worrying about this child’s Valentine’s Day tragedy. That stuff stick with you forever — like the time I got dumped in 8th grade on Valentine’s Day. Harsh.

I parked my car, got out, walked to the scattered Valentines, picked one up and found… that they weren’t Valentines at all. They were Glidden paint chip cards. Be still my heart! No child was sobbing on his teacher at school. No child was sitting in the office waiting to call her mom. Valentine’s Day is not ruined!

I got back in the car, circling back around to our house.

And laughed really hard at myself.

For a Self-Professed Anti-Valentiner, I did get awfully emotional about some child’s scattered valentines.

I don’t hate love.

I hate forced acts of love. I hate hearts and chocolate and doilies. I hate when people in relationships — men or women — expect things from their partner just because it’s a holiday. Or any day really as I hate entitlement. But I love love. I love people doing something for other people because they want to, not because they’re expected to. I love people doing something out of the goodness of the heart. I left my house, unshowered with my hair in a crazy messy bun and no makeup on my face, prepared to walk into my son’s school with muddy Valentines in order to save an unknown child’s holiday — a holiday that I don’t even like. I was overjoyed when I didn’t have to, but I would have done it.

I don’t hate love.

Now excuse me while I go turn on an Anti-Valentine’s Day playlist on Spotify. I’ve been horribly sappy today and need to get my detox started now. (But, before I run off and put on all black, go ahead and read this beautiful love story. I got weepy. See, I’m not heartless.)

The Valentine’s Day the Fire Department Ruined

Holidays, Parenting 5 Responses »

Feb 142011

This post could alternately be titled: Or Why We Don’t Celebrate Valentine’s Day Anymore. (Kind of.)

BigBrother was not quite three months old and I was deep in the throes of postpartum depression. We had just bought the house but had not yet moved out of our apartment and into said house. As such, stress levels were high with the packing, decluttering, painting of the new house and general anxiety that comes with buying your first home. We were planning on moving the 16th of February, so by the 14th — Valentine’s Day — we were maxed out on stress.

But, gee, BigBrother was cute, no?

The high stress made me a little bit grumpy — and that may be a gross understatement. I didn’t want to go to work that day as it was; I had so much left to do in order to get us ready to move. And at that point in time, I still placed some unnecessary, unrealistic, unatainable importance on Valentine’s Day. The winds of drama were churning, blowing my postpartum emotions about.

And then? C’mon fire partners, I know you know what I’m about to say next.

Yep. Fire!

A local restaurant caught on fire, thus creating The Perfect Storm for a Postpartum Rant. In my old blog, I tagged the post as “the valentine’s day the FD ruined.” Oh yes, it was Very Dramatic. It was kind of unfortunate regarding timing as I had to take BigBrother to FireDad’s grandparents’ house. Since FireDad wasn’t supposed to work that day, we hadn’t arranged for our normal child care. Emergencies and fires don’t really care about scheduled child care. As he ran out the door, I began to cry. Any hope of salvaging a Valentine’s Day went down the drain with my weeping snot.

A few days later, as I reread my rant, I realized that it was absolutely ridiculous. FireDad had no control over the fire at the restaurant. BigBrother didn’t care that he spent most of the day with his great-grandparents. Despite working a normal shift that day, we did eventually get packed and moved on schedule. I began to reevaluate my thoughts and beliefs about Valentine’s Day at that point in time.

What was the point of the rant? Of the hurt feelings? I mean, postpartum depression played into that scenario, but the whole tirade seemed rather pointless. Neither of us really placed much importance on Valentine’s Day to begin with, so why was I so upset? I began to see that we didn’t need to do that to ourselves. Also, having just over a year in at the Fire Department at that point, I was also realizing that our schedules are never truly are own; a fire can happen at any time, on any holiday. And, in fact, they usually do. I began to let go of Valentine’s Day after that unfortunate year of unnecessary whining.

Since that year, we have scaled it back. Way back. Meaning that we — as a couple — don’t do or give anything. We — as parents — try to make the day about Family Love, showing the boys with little activities and gifts and meals that we love them. A lot. This year they each got a book, a coloring book (SMURFS, you guys!) and their current favorite dinner — homemade fettucini alfredo with shrimp, broccoli and cheesy scones. We are taking some strawberry mini-cupcakes to the Fire Department for FireDad and his coworkers. And that’s about it. Low-key. No stress. No chocolate. No rants about the ruining of a day.

Just Love.

Oh, and I may have dressed them way cute today. And apparently neglected to brush their hair.

My Valentines

And so, Happy Valentine’s Day. I hope nothing ruined your day. I hope it was what you wanted. Ours? Just perfect.

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