It's cold, and I'm tired. A wee bit sick, and cranky. Overwhelmed by my to-do list, and my want-to-do list. I've spent much of the past few days in pajamas, with my head in a fog, just not myself. Wanting the sun to shine into the depths of me, and reflect a brightness. I opened the blinds in my office; perhaps that will help. A sign of the fog that has descended? Not wanting to plan a birthday celebration for myself, or have anyone else do it, either. I love my birthday. And this morning I told my co-everything that I wasn't sure I wanted a party. Which isn't to say that I won't change my mind, but it's cold, and I'm tired.
A small box of candy, a treat of some kind -- nothing extravagant, always special, wrapped or tied with ribbon and waiting, always magically waiting on the breakfast plate.
Having to explain that we weren't doing anything special because he was probably doing something special with her. Wondering why I had to explain this to his friends, seething about the timing and the circumstances, just days before.
Laughing with a girlfriend over margaritas and chips.
Receiving not one but two unsigned bouquets, big and beautiful with cryptic messages, clearly from two senders.
Not remembering many of these days, not thinking that they are really special, but always waiting to see what the day holds. Deliberating about a purchase or plan of my own. What to get the love, and the child who proclaimed as he bounced into our room this morning, "It's Val-en-tine's Day!"
This morning, as I was getting dressed and particularly loathing my body, our dear sweet child patted my leg and simply said with delight, "You're so soft, Mommy!" And proceeded to pat me in admiration and love.
Sometimes others don't even realize the gift they give us.