I love Valentine’s Day.
I LOVE Valentine’s Day. Back in grade school, I used to love the holiday so much that it physically made me sick from excitement. I’d pick out my fanciest, sparkliest, flounciest skirt and/or whimsical animal top and spend possibly too much time choosing necklaces, bracelets and earrings (after second grade) that screamed hearts.
Okay, I still do.
Back then, I’d painstakingly craft Valentines for every member of my class, every teacher, librarian and Room Girl. (Did you guys ever have Room Girls or Boys? They were the fifth graders responsible for marching the younger kids down to the cafetorium every day at lunchtime. I later become one. It was an awesome and heady responsibility.)
I also spent the equivalent of a part-time job making my desk envelope AS WELL AS a bedroom door envelope. You know, for all of the Valentine overflow? My “workshop” was my bedroom closet, a narrow, 70s-style sliding plywood door number- I’d periodically remove everything from the floor (mainly on heavy work days- it was also a detective office when necessary) and pull on the chain light for optimum crafting conditions.
I signed every card with a personal message and a bold, glittery “Love, Keely,” delivered them with seizure-inducing excitement and waited for the magic to happen. (In third grade, a kid I’ll refer to simply as “Chris” brandished his in front of my face with a defiant wave. “Love? Love, Keely? You love me?” Buffoon.)
And the party? Oh, God, the party. The last hour of the school day was when we pushed our desks into, you know, party formation and got to open envelopes, deliver any last minute Valentines (I always tried to look extra deserving) and eat baked goods that have forever defined my image of the holiday. (Susen Andrews’ Mom, Janet? God bless you and God bless those mammoth pink frosted heart cookies.)
Except here was the problem.
I’d get so crazy excited the night (heck, month) before, that I’d usually be running a low-grade temp the morning of the class party. My Mom, savvy to my enthusiastic and potentially self-damaging glee, would sometimes allow me to go to school for the morning and “See how you feel.” (It wasn’t the plague, after all, it was a self-induced pre-sugar high.)
I usually didn’t make it to noon. Sometimes I even puked.
The car ride home always, always involved tears.
The teacher would have packaged my Valentine envelope and a few treats for me to take home- but it wasn’t the same. Valentine’s Day usually involved a late afternoon nap and dinner in my jammies.
BUT THE DINNER!
My parents were always darned festive, too, and Valentine’s Day dinner was a shiny affair, complete with a “fancy” table, red cellophane-wrapped wondrousness and trinkets waiting at our place settings. (They probably only cost a few dollars, but red beads and velvet bows are the stuff from which memories are made- clearly.) We’d have a dinner of “favorites” complete with dessert- dessert was not always present for Flynn family dinners, but when it was it could be counted on to be epic- and, of course, opening of the bedroom door envelopes. I sometimes helped the twins open theirs. Heck, I usually helped them MAKE their envelopes. (They were allowed in the secret office- they were quite smallish and didn’t take up much room.)
Now, I’m sure my folks had different ideas of what a “perfect” Valentine’s Day would be- a quiet dinner, a non-animated flick, a full night’s sleep without their secondborn ending up in bed with them- but for me? The memories of this one day have permanently shaped how I feel about the holiday.
This is why I do not get when people oppose a “Hallmark holiday”. It’s based on an actual saint who helped marry persecuted Christians– nothing Hallmark about that! But sure, now it’s a Corporate Scheme and we’re all inundated with ads for precious gifts and expensive bling.
You know what else is a Corporate, Spendy Holiday? July the 4th. You could choke on the ads for beer and grills and boats- BUT YOU DON’T SEE PEOPLE PICKETING THAT ONE, do you?
I spent the weekend with Peej and Nora, watching a trifecta of Batman Begins, Blade: Trinity (“Use it…”) and Down With Love (which, crazily enough, ends happily IN love!), and they all strangely jived. Naps were taken with various, pink corduroy-clad gals and pajama pants-clad, coupon-happy men. Okay, one of each.
I cooked ZERO meals (while, funnily enough, P.J. prepared a handful of my favorite recipes on the face of the planet) and we exchanged gifts that totaled twenty bucks. Not exactly DeBeers, but you should totally ask P.J. to show you his travel mug with Nora’s, well, mug on it. Awesome.
Spent the past few days calling, texting, emailing and Skyping loved ones to say just that, and received more than a few glittery cards in the mail. Which will be visible on my dining room table for a month. I love Valentine’s Day.
And when Peej asked if I wanted to get a sitter and go out for a “grownup dinner” on the town? I passed on that one.
I have my own little gal now who gets unbelievably stoked with anticipation for a fancy holiday and for whom February 14th will always be an epic day.
I can just tell.
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