I know now why Alyssa and I are friends

Thursdays are my longest days as far as time commitments. I either have class, writing center hours, or Whitworthian meetings straight from 9:30 a.m. to 9 p.m. And then I get to start my homework for Friday. So the fact that Valentine's Day fell on a Thursday actually was, I thought, going to get me off the hook. I've only had a significant other twice on the fateful day, and since one was in eighth grade and the other was a long distance relationship, my expectations for the day have never been high. That's the way I like it. (If you haven't read Alyssa's latest post, it's a precursor to my next point.) I have extreme anxiety about any occasion that requires a gift or strongly implies that if you don't give a gift, you are a terrible heartless human being. And since James' birthday was the 9th, I had two instances that required thought and creativity in a week.

I did alright with the birthday. But Valentine's Day, especially for a male, is tricky. There are no default gifts, like the flowers and chocolates of the female world, so its either something material or something thoughtful. And then the one thoughtful idea I had (making chicken parmesan, his favorite food,) was shot down when he returned from South Africa and declared that if he never ate chicken again it would be too soon. So there I was, February 14, with nothing to wrap and no plan in sight. We even ended up "celebrating" on Friday instead, because of my schedule. And even with an extra day, I was still stumped.

I think my main hesitation lies in how I define love, and how I choose to express it. My idea of love, or even just friendship, is not based in equally reciprocated events or adhering to traditional ideas about anniversaries or gifts. Sure, I always love the occasional flower or creative birthday surprise. But my love language is acts of service. I do for people what they don't have time or are too stressed out to do for themselves. In this case, I have a feeling I won't completely fail as a mother. I fold people's laundry, or take out their garbage, or bring them an apple when they've been studying too hard to remember to eat. I do it in the daily stuff, in hopes that my feelings, at any level, won't just be noticed on calendar dates. They, at least this is the goal, will be seen as part of who I am. And because of this, I find it hard to go much beyond that. I want people to feel special and loved and worth something in this world and in my life every day.