I’ve never been one to make a big deal about Valentine’s Day.
Okay, maybe not never.
I do remember making decorative boxes for exchanging valentines in elementary school and secretly hoping the various boys I had crushes on would leave me some sort of clue that they also liked me. It never happened because, of course, everybody in elementary school is required by their parents to give a valentine to everyone else in the class.
In junior high, you could send carnations to your special someone or just your friends, which is what most people do. I remember, though, getting one from this boy I kind of knew, and his message said, “I think you’re pretty great.”
It made me feel pretty great.
We all know that aluminum foil-covered boxes full of cheapy “Be Mine” cards and chocolate bars and sweetheart candy aren’t really what love is all about. Neither are sad-looking carnations with notes scotch-taped to them.
Long-lasting love is difficult. It takes work, patience, and a kind of stick-to-it-iveness even when you’re feeling grumpy.
But it is also fun.
Lots and lots of fun.
Today marks the eleventh Valentine’s Day I’m celebrating with my special someone. I think he’s pretty great. In fact, I think he’s really great. I try not to go into too much detail about how great he is here at Texas Schmexas (though I have been known to mention it) because I know some of his current and former students are lurking. That could get awkward.
But I came across this quote in Anne Lamott’s new book on prayer that reminded me of him. She writes,
a good marriage is one in which each spouse secretly thinks he or she got the better deal.
Anne Lamott, in Help, Thanks, Wow, p. 57
So I guess here’s what I want to say:
Happy Valentine’s Day, hubster. I got the better deal.