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Song of the Week - Feb 5th, 2009

By Caroline Connors

Maybe it’s just a state of mind caused by the perpetual coldness of my extremities, but instead of images of hearts and roses filling my head this month, all I can think of is snow. It might also be attributed to the fact that my most memorable Valentine’s Day to date was when, as a young bride, I spent over four hours trapped in my car while I attempted to drive home from work in the midst of a colossal snow storm.

When I finally arrived home, dramatically bursting through the door of our apartment with snow swirling around my head, my husband John was calmly watching television, blissfully unaware (in those pre-cell phone days) of my harrowing experience. It was close to 10 o’clock by the time we sat down to eat a special meal that had been in the oven for too many hours and gaze at each other across a table illuminated by candles that had dripped down to within an inch of their lives.

While it was not the romantic evening I had expected as a newlywed—I went to bed early so that I could get a head start on traffic the following morning—it mentally prepared me for the Valentine’s Days I would experience in the years ahead as a wife and mother. Except perhaps for those women who were married or engaged on February 14, Valentine’s Day just does not live up to its romantic hype. Like many other holidays, Valentine’s Day is saddled with a lot of lofty expectations that really do not mesh with reality; contrary to the Disney Princess-influenced mindset of our pre-school aged daughters, Prince Charming is not on his way to rescue us from that next evil load of laundry. Even if he was, I wouldn’t have anything clean to wear.

Nineteen years after our first anti-climatic Valentine’s Day as married people, I think my husband has finally figured me out. He knows that I prefer to cook a nice dinner for my family on Valentine’s Day and save the evening out for a spur-of-the-moment occasion when I am in dire need of a glass of wine and a night off of kitchen duty. While other guys are battling crowds at Victoria’s Secret in pursuit of silky lingerie, John is more likely to grab a pair of flannel pajamas for me and toss them on top of the bag of grapefruit and case of Corona in the cart at Sam’s. And he knows it drives me crazy to see the debit card receipt for red roses purchased at inflated prices in February, so instead he surprises me with a small bouquet on some random night purchased from the vendor on the street corner. You may call me boring, though I prefer to be known as “low maintenance.”

While practical, I admit to having a sentimental streak for gifts from the heart. Despite a consistent impulse to de-clutter my nest, I cannot part with the stash of cards inscribed with the pet name my husband has for me (never mind that he borrowed the moniker from a scary female character in some sci-fi movie—I still like it) or clear from the top of my dresser the assorted pink and red heart-shaped boxes made by my children over the years that are perfect for holding locks of hair and other precious items.

What Valentine’s Day may lack in romance for us 30, 40, or 50 something gals who would gladly take a guilt-free extra half-hour at the gym over a box of waxy chocolates with mysterious fillings, it makes up for by giving us the chance to share the love that we feel everyday but don’t always have the time or energy to express. I may roll my eyes at romance, but I love to love and be loved, and Valentine’s Day is the perfect day to show it.