(Clearly, I'm terribly inconsistent with keeping this thing updated, so as much as I'd like to say, "I'm here to stay"...only time will tell.)
For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved Valentine’s Day. As a schoolgirl, when the prospect of romance was more exciting than the reality, it was the anticipation of receiving a super-hero Valentine from a crush.
Would he include a candy heart with a “ur cute” message?
Would he sign “love” and if he did, what did it mean?
Would he, in an effusive, public show of emotion, send me a candy gram—those carnation-based money-makers the senior class sold?
Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t and sometimes he did but spelled my name “July,” which made me question the depth of feeling, no matter what the candy heart said.
As an adult, for a period of time, I loved Valentine’s Day because my boyfriend went all out—flowers, candy, romantic dinner, gushing rhetoric, the works. Of course, it took me about six months after the colossal demise of that relationship to realize that kind words and meaningful gifts didn’t need to be bottled up and saved for one day a year (as was the case). Ah, the clarity that comes with a broken heart.
But mainly, I’ve always loved Valentine’s Day because it’s a holiday my mom makes special—and as everyone in my family knows, I’m a stickler (some might say “brat”) for all things involving holidays and family traditions.
In fact, my Christmas stocking was canceled eight years ago and every December 25 I mourn its loss—and its sad, limp form hanging from the mantle.
One year, someone (mom says it was me; I’m still waiting for evidence) lost the recipe for her delicious pecan rolls, which we’ve had every Christmas morning since I started enjoying food. She suggested making something else, but someone (ok, me) insisted that the she attempt the rolls, and I’m pleased to say she recollected the recipe quite perfectly.
When I go home, I make a point of declaring I should be sleeping in MY bedroom, even if my sister and her husband stay there because it’s the only room with a big enough bed. (Note: My parents could let them sleep in their queen, but no, I am the one inconvenienced.)
And, I think my poor mother has wanted to change the candy-striped carpet in MY bedroom for years, but is letting me cling to this last piece of my childhood.
Anyway, I’m a little attached, let’s say. But back to Valentine’s Day.
Every February 14 morning, we’d each come downstairs to a box of chocolates, a dazzling card (usually one with at least $6 worth of sparkling appliqué on the front, which would ruin $2 Hallmark cards for me forever) and a little gift—an adorable stuffed animal, a cute t-shirt and, sometimes, cash.
Mom kept this up even when we went off to college, sometimes switching out the chocolates with a box of cookies (a most suitable substitution). Even just two days ago, I had a card and little gift waiting for me when I arrived home from work. (Apparently, I can accept scaled back tradition as long as some part of it is upheld.)
Of course, for years, I’ve happily received these gifts, never once thinking that my mom might appreciate something in return. (A delusional assumption I carried from childhood to adulthood: Parents always LOVE buying their children gifts, and I was bringing my mom joy by happily accepting her gifts, year after year after year.)
This all changed with a trip to Target one cold day in February last year. The aisles were stocked with Valentine’s candies and as I walked up and down, looking for a treat to take back to the office, I saw Valentine’s Day Dots.
My mom loves Dots. In fact, outside of certain chocolates, it’s one of her favorite candies, something I never understood because they consistently end up stuck to my teeth, which leads to me digging around trying to pick out little sticky red and green and yellow pieces.
I eat candy according to 1. my cravings and 2. the effort to enjoyment ratio. I never crave Dots, and if I did, they fall way too high on the effort side of the ratio to be satisfying.
My personal feelings aside, I knew mom would love the special edition pink, red and white Dots. And out of this, grew an idea: I would send HER a Valentine’s Day package, complete with favorite candy, chocolates, a cute notepad for her grocery lists (she loves these) and a dazzling card, comparable to all the cards I had received over the years.
I wrote a thoughtful note, packaged everything up, ventured to the post office and waited in anticipation for her to receive the treats.
Just a couple of days later, I received two excited texts from her:
“THANK YOU!! I have eaten most all of the Dots… the chocolates look delicious… I will definitely use the notepad… and the card is beautiful.”
My heart was happy! Mom loved her gifts! I read on:
“It looks like someone started a new tradition…”
Ahhhh! The tables had turned! I was caught in my own game. Mom, after all the years of listening to my ridiculous demands, finally pulled the tradition card on me.
Of course, I laughed. And in keeping with tradition, visited Target last week, found another favorite candy (the chewy mint Christmas trees, now in Valentine’s Day form) and sent out her now annual package.
Secretly, I’m hoping that after a few more of these packages she’ll bring back my Christmas stocking...
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