All you need is love

Valentine festivities began in earnest last Friday at Mark's school. He remembered that morning he had a class party, and that he needed 35 signed Valentine's cards in the next 10 minutes -- and of course, he couldn't find the class roster. I wished him luck finding the roster and scrawling his name somewhat legibly 35 times in a row.

He made it with just seconds to spare. Away he went, cards spilling from his hands, running off to school.

I imagined he'd come home with 35 similar Valentine cards. But when I picked him up, the teacher handed me a plastic bag full of candy.

"What's all this?" I asked incredulously.

"From our party," he explained. Each card had candy attached, and some even had full bags of candy. (A few parents, knowing about Mark's dia betes, sent sugar-free candy -- I immediately welled up at their thoughtfulness.)

"When did Valentine's Day turn into Halloween?" I asked, shaking the giant sack of candy. "When I was a kid, all we got were cards!"

"They had cards back then?" my little joker asked.

The story was the same at my parents' house. My nieces and nephew were scarfing down candy.

"I've got a bearfull of candy!" Grant yelled, and showed me a paper bear that was, indeed, brimming over with sweets.

"What did Liam give you?" Nathalie asked her younger sister, Gabi. Gabi sorted through the lollipops and hearts and came up with a chocolate-covered cookie on a stick. It was heart-shaped and covered in sprinkles.

"Liam likes Gabi," Nathalie explained.

"A chocolate-covered cookie?" I said. "Heck, Liam LOVES you!"

Nine-year-old Gabi shrugged. The day before, another admirer ate a piece of paper that had touched Gabi. Cookies were so ... third-grade.

"What about you, Mark?" I asked. "Any Valentines in your class?" He gets really embarrassed about mushy stuff like girls and love, so I had to tread lightly.

"No," he answered. "But ooh, look, Fun-Dip!"

We separated the candy from his cards, reading over the signatures. One had a car on it, and read, "Take the lead, Valentine!"

"Here's one from Danica," I said. "Did she cross out 'Valentine' on everybody's card?"

"No, just mine," Mark said. "I sit next to her in class." Apparently, proximity to Mark did not inspire warm fuzzy feelings in Danica.

On Sunday, my parents gave us cards and certificates for ice cream cones. That's when Mark began to really appreciate Valentine's Day, and what it symbolized.

"I love ice cream!" he shouted. I figured hey, as long he showed love for something, it was a start!

Mark gave me a hand-written Valentine, which made me giggle and weepy all at once.


I gave Mark a new book. It had a built-in microphone so you could record yourself reading the story. Which is super cool, unless you are a very loud person. Like me.

I played the recording in the kitchen -- it was screaming back at me. "Is it too loud?" I asked my mom, who was standing in the next room.

"Not if you listen to it from here," she answered. Then she started laughing, so I went to re-record it. I got it right the third time, when I held the book, arms outstretched, as far away as possible, and whispered.

Mark and I spent the day at the zoo with our friend Nicky, then headed home to attend a dinner party with my best friends. We all passed out chocolate and Valentines, drank wine, and laughed a lot.

And so, even though my Valentine's Day wasn't the least bit romantic, it was completely filled with love. I spent the day with my favorite people -- my family and friends. I lavished them with love, and embraced the love they all sent back.

Maybe not what St. Valentine originally envisioned for his day, but I like the Beatles' vision better anyway. They had it right; all you need is love -- and love is all you need.