Today is February 14, Valentine’s Day. As if anyone needs reminding.
I understand the hype around the day: the flowers, the cards, enticing jewelry and restaurant reservations. I play into it as much as the next person, without going overboard. I mean, I don’t buy fancy chocolate or decorate my home with hearts, but I do start the
day by letting my family know how much I love them (maybe over a special breakfast of crepes). I slip love notes into my kids’ lunchboxes, and I insist, yes I do, that my husband and I do something—anything–just the two of us for dinner. It’s not as though we need a dedicated day of love. But it’s nice, especially in the fray of Steve’s campaign and graduate school for me. It helps to carve out the time for one another.
Valentine’s is rather arbitrary, isn’t it? I’d argue for one month, three months, six months, a year. That’s right, a year of love for everyone.
So what if it sounds woo-hoo. There’s real logic here. Because love is contagious: the more you feel it, the more you see it.
Love is the way your son jumps into your bed in the morning, bruising you with his bony knees while smothering you in kisses. Love is the e-mail you send a friend, telling her how much you treasure her friendship. Love is the deep satisfaction you get when you accomplish something meaningful. Love is the comfort of your home, your slippers, that first sip of morning coffee.
Love is in the air. Just check out my parents’ ziplining in Costa Rica.