There is something to be said for asking for what you want…and getting it.
Last year Valentine’s Day passed with nary a nod toward romance, love or even acknowledgement. That didn’t go over so well. Call me shallow (as some did) but a little love on a day marketed for lovers isn’t such a bad thing.
This year I decided to avoid the drama and just handle things myself. I asked for what I wanted. And I got it.
Our days are busy. Our nights are exhausting. Most nights my hubby and I don’t go to bed in the same hour. Kisses are hit and miss–LITERALLY–as one of us is rushing to get in the car (late) or wrestling with a 2-year-old mid tantrum. We aren’t sophisticated enough for air kisses-it’s just the best we can do. My husband comes home from work and has to step over the prone-body of the 2-year-old who has splayed herself spread eagle on the floor to protest some indignity (like not getting candy as dinner was getting made). Dodging swinging feet and wailing arms he makes his way inside the kitchen saying something that no one can hear over the shrieks, screams and cries of the protesting toddler. He conquers that obstacle, leans in for a kiss only to hit my cheek or my ear because my head has done that little spinny thing that only momma’s of pre-teen girls can understand. As his lips reach my cheek/ear (depending on the severity of my head spin) my mouth explodes in some tirade directed at said pre-teen girl. It’s hard to go from mid-rant to ‘hi honey’. “YOU WILL NOT TALK TO ME THAT WAY!” at full volume makes it hard for, “Welcome home. How was your day?” to have any sincerity. The third attempt at the kiss is usually thwarted by a voice saying, “We don’t have time for that. I gotta go!”by a lanky, scrawny teen holding a swim bag that is bigger then he is. A fourth attempt at a kiss is way-laid as I suddenly remember the scrawny, lanky man-child hasn’t eaten anything and is about to head off to swim 2-3 miles. The fifth attempt is unsuccessful as tyrannical toddler, pretentious pre-teen and anorexic athlete converge into the kitchen to all complain, whine and argue AT THE SAME TIME. If he’s brave enough to attempt a sixth attempt it is waylaid when the toddler sees the swim bag, sees the kiss attempt and successfully concludes that daddy and bubba are leaving the house. She launches herself at his legs with enough force to knock him backwards which is AWAY from me and drama ensues.
So yes, shallow though it may be I needed this Valentine’s Day to offer some nod toward romance. And because I needed it–desperately–I asked for it. I’ve asked before only to be told, ‘If you ask for a love letter it doesn’t mean the same thing as just getting one.’ We’ll save my response to that for another blog. Regardless of past arguments…this year I asked for, and got, EXACTLY what I wanted and needed…a hand written love note from him to me. And that made me happy.
As everyone scoffed and turned up their noses yesterday at this manufactured holiday, this commercial plot against all mankind, this travesty of a day I was quietly thinking, “what is wrong with a day that encourages everyone to take just a second to tell someone they are loved?” I didn’t get nor did I want $45 dollar roses. I got jewelry but it was left over from a day-late-anniverary-present that I stubbornly refused to acknowledge at the time (let me know if you want to hear that story). I got a few minutes of my lover’s time. I didn’t want or need (boy did I not need) candy. Nope. I got exactly what I wanted and NEEDED. A stolen moment. A whispered reminder that I am loved–as I am. And that whisper is just enough for me.