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A simple enough pleasure, surely, to have breakfast alone with one’s husband, but how seldom married people in the midst of life achieve it.
–Anne Morrow Lindbergh
As Valentine’s Day draws to a close, I’ve been thinking about the celebration of love. My husband and I have been married for 27+ years. There were no flowers today. No fine dining. No mass-produced cards. No chocolate, save for the cookies we bought in a roll at the store and quickly threw in the oven tonight.  And that’s okay. Our years together have developed a depth of love that needs no validation through commercialized traditions.
Instead, we have inside jokes, a natural rhythm of togetherness, shared memories and spontaneous romance. One of my favorite times of unexpected romance was after my daughter, my youngest, stepped on the bus for her first day at kindergarten. I was down. Pangs of separation anxiety were setting in. But as I slowly walked back toward the house, my husband said, “Want to go to breakfast?” A smile crossed my face as I understood what he was really saying. “Let’s be spontaneous. No planning or sitter required. No disruptions. Just you, me, coffee, eating while it’s hot and walking away from the mess! A ‘first day of school’ date.” How brilliant…and thoughtful. Within a minute, he turned a day I had been dreading into a chance to celebrate us. And we continued the tradition through most of their school years.
These are the “Valentine’s Days” that count. And I’m looking forward to many more, whatever day they fall on.
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