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.

It was a lovely day...

...and a day filled with love!

I spent Valentine's Day with most of my favorite people, the affectionately named Poker Mamas (Edra, Monica, and Vicki). Edra invited us over for a Valentine's Day brunch, and I always accept a party invitation! We noshed on bagels and drank champagne, and pretty much spent the morning congratulating ourselves on having fine taste in wine and friends.

Then Mark and I were off to the Harlem Globetrotters game, which was pretty darn fun. I remember seeing them when I was just a little kid, and laughing my head off at them. I am happy to report that some things never change. The jokes were the same, the tricks were the same, and I laughed just as hard as I did when I was 7.

Mark enjoyed it, too. He thought they were really funny, especially when they stopped playing basketball and started playing football. Yes, on the basketball court, with a basketball! He also liked the race sponsored by IHOP -- a footrace between a huge piece of bacon, a giant pancake, and a big egg. The bacon won, but just barely.

He also liked this weird little mascot guy named Lil G. Lil G wore an inflatable costume that he bounced all around in, even upside down on his head. He was quite adept at eating things, too, including a giant can of Campbell's soup (the other sponsor) and then, remarkably, a live man.

"Is that man really eaten?" Mark wanted to know, and I just nodded. "Looks like it," I said.

Mark was also happy that the Harlem Globetrotters won the game, even when the opposing team tried to cheat. He couldn't stop laughing at their coach, who had to wear a tutu as punishment for losing. (I kinda laughed at that, too -- it's not often you see a grown man in a tutu.)

I bought Mark a red, white and blue basketball during the halftime. At the end of the game, the Globetrotters autographed it for him. Mark is usually too embarrassed to ask adults anything. However, when he wants something, he loses all sense of shyness, and becomes very focused. That's what happened when it came to the autographs. There were tons of people crowding the players, including tall grown men, and they were all shoving basketballs toward the players. A shy kid didn't have a chance of getting even one autograph, but luckily, Mark is not shy in these situations. He wriggled his way to the front, and got not one, but six autographs! He is so proud of his new Globetrotters ball that he woke up at 8 o'clock this morning, and went outside to shoot some hoops with it.


It was a really fun afternoon. We had only spent an hour with the girls, so we headed back to their place. We sat around drinking more wine, and eating the leftover cookies and brownies. Then we ordered pizza, drank a little more wine, and sank into the couches, happy and content. It may not have been the most romantic Valentine's Day, but it was filled with love and happiness all the same. :-)

Really, not a bad way to spend a day, if you ask me.

My funny Valentine

I knew when I adopted a little kid I'd face different challenges than with a baby. I welcomed some differences (no 2 a.m. feedings! no diaper changes!) and mourned, then accepted, others (I never heard his first words or saw his first steps). There were also other differences I never expected but should have.

For example, immediate love -- on Mark's part, that is. Like any biological parent, I loved Mark before I even met him. The first time I read his file and saw his picture, I fell. This is my child, I thought, and I immediately loved him as such. I felt a maternal pride and warmth for him, and couldn't wait to wrap him in my arms.

However...I also felt a sense of caution, because I knew I couldn't really do that. Unlike a biological mom who's just given birth, I couldn't hold my son the first time I met him. Mark was a kid with a history already, not a helpless newborn baby. He didn't know me from Adam -- I was just another new adult in his life.

Not to mention he already had a mom. OK, so maybe he didn't live with her, and maybe she wasn't the best mom, but she was his biological mom. And nobody had told Mark he was going to be adopted -- nobody had told him he was getting a new mom. I faced an uphill battle right from the start.

So I proceeded cautiously. When I met Mark, I introduced myself as Heather, even though inside I was screaming, "I'm your mom!" I played with him for a couple hours, and when I left, it took all my restraint not to hug him and kiss him goodbye. Instead, I settled for a high five, which he was more than happy to give.

We continued like that for five or six weeks; both of us on a first name basis, both of us taking our leave with a high five. I was affectionate with Mark, but not overly so. If I was a little kid and some adult I'd just met was always hugging me, I'd freak out. So I tried my best not to freak Mark out.

When Mark moved in, I felt like probation had ended, and I loosened the affection ban. "Goodnight," I'd tell Mark every evening. "I love you."

He'd scrunch up his face and tell me defiantly, "Well, I don't love you!"

"That's okay," I'd respond. "You don't have to."

I never took it personally, because I knew this was a little kid going through a tough time. I knew this was a little kid with no control in his life; somewhere, some random judge was telling him who could be in his life and who couldn't; who he had to see, and when; where he had to live, and where he had to go to school. Mark had no say, and he was an angry little guy because of it. I couldn't blame him, though; I'd have been angry, too, if it was me.

But Mark really is a loving little guy, and slowly, over a few weeks, he warmed up.

"Goodnight," I'd say, same as every night. "I love you."

"Well, I don't love you!" he'd still say sometimes, but eventually, that gave way to, "I love you, too --but just a LITTLE bit!" Then he'd hold up his thumb and forefinger to show me the littlest possible gap he could, indicating the littlest bit of love he felt.

I'd smile, and he'd retract his statement immediately. "Did you hear me?" he'd say. "I only love you a little bit!"

And I'd answer, "Well, that's OK -- it's more than you loved me yesterday!"

He always measured his love with his hands. Pretty soon, the little gap became a bigger gap. He'd stretch his hands out, a foot apart, and say, "I love you thiiiiiiiis much." Then I'd stretch mine a little further and say, "Well, I love you thiiiiiis much!" Each night the hands would stretch a little farther out. Soon, we were adding far away distances, and it began to sound like a popular children's book -- "I love you to the moon and back." "Well, I love you to the moon and back, infinity!"

It went on like that for a few more weeks. Then, one night, he was really sleepy, and when I told him I loved him, he answered, "I love you too," then rolled over and went to sleep. There was no disclaimer; there was no measurement of how much or how little love he felt. I waited, but it never came. I grinned the biggest grin ever, and I cried.

Three and a half years later, there are no more caveats. There are no measurements. Mark simply says, "I love you, Mom," and he means it. And each time he says it -- even now, three and a half years later -- it still makes me melt. It was a big win, his love -- it was a test I took every night, and didn't pass for months. When it finally came, it was awesome, because I knew I'd earned it, and I knew it was genuine.

So yes, I missed out on some things in his early childhood. I didn't hold him at birth, and receive his immediate undying love simply because I'd given him life. But three and a half years later, I've given him a different life. So now when he says "I love you," I believe it. I've earned it, I'm worthy of it, I paid the price for it in patience and hard work.

And so today, February 14th, the day we celebrate love, has become very special to me. It's really a triumphant day, a day I cherish a hard-fought love, and the little boy it comes from. And I think to myself, really, what other Valentine could ever beat that?