I remember making and passing out valentines in elementary school into tiny baskets on each kid’s desk. I was always so excited to see what my classmates chose to give me. Like my horoscope, I’d always read what I wanted to read. If my crush gave me a Kermit card, I just *knew* it meant he wanted to hold hands.
I remember high school where simple handmade cards turned into buying carnations for classmates. I think the intention of the organizers was to send warm fuzzies to your pals but, like most things in high school, it felt like a competition. How may carnations were waiting for me in homeroom? It always gave me anxiety. I didn’t like how my feelings were directly related to the size of my bouquet. Also, there was always an anonymous love flower whose giver I’d never know. I didn’t like the not knowing either. Just give me a Kermit card and let’s hold hands already.
Memory is an interesting thing, what our brains choose to hold onto, how out bodies choose to revisit stories. I have been thinking about this a lot lately as Margot is three and, at three, I have many vivid, exaggerated snippets in my brain. I wonder what she’ll remember and I wrote about it in this week’s mama digs: remembering three.
Photos taken with webcam, my beloved camera is broken.
Happy Valentine’s Day!