Today is Valentine's Day. I still think of Eric and me as newlyweds, having been married only 3 1/2 years now. And I'm not sure if I'm cynical or not because of the fact that February 14 doesn't make me swoon.
Maybe it comes down to the fact that I don't want a holiday to dictate when my husband buys me flowers or gives me a card. Those things wouldn't gloss over 364 days of neglect.
Fortunately for me, Eric is generous all year long. He frequently verbalizes his love for me. And he demonstrates it in all that he does to serve me. He will do laundry and shovel snow without grumbling. Let's say that perchance once in a while I don't program my coffeemaker the night before and he's beginning to stir while I'm getting ready. All it takes from me is a pitiful, "Honey, I didn't set the coffeepot last night," and he will lovingly offer to get it started. Never mind that he doesn't drink coffee. In so many ways every single day, he let's me know that he cherishes our marriage.
So when he brought me roses today at work, I was delighted, but I didn't need or expect them. We don't store up our words for a single day. Even as we exchange cards, there's a bit of me that feels like it's just another ordinary day.
I guess this means that I'm pretty lucky. I just wish others would recognize that a better way to judge the character and love of a man is by the way he lives every day of his life, not how he acts on Valentine's Day.
When I read Yarn Harlot this evening, I thought she also helped articulate some of my thoughts on this. I mean to be anything but cynical, but I think this helps describe why to me, it's just one more day on the calendar.