In early February, Chris and I usually wander into the card aisle at Target and select cards for each other, even though we don't celebrate Valentine's Day.
“This is the card I’d buy for you if I were going to buy a card,”
I say. He does the same. We give each other a high five and proclaim we have just saved $8. (Thanks to a former co-worker for this great idea!)
Having one day in the middle of February to express love and appreciation seems contrived. I'd much rather have someone surprise me on any other day with a kind word, flowers, or a heart-felt sentiment.
Where do we find love everyday?
Love is Isaac whispering, "YMCA" into my ear before my alarm goes off. (It's one of his favorite places.)
Love is Henry sharing a Starburst candy.
Love is crying during an IEP meeting at school because I'm so grateful for the progress Noah has made and for those who have helped him along the way.
Love is knowing that even though my husband is a runner, he's never run away from home.
Love is telling Isaac to have a great day at school and seeing him look at me and wave.
Love is Noah carrying his trombone (which is almost bigger than he is) to band and referring to it as "bodacious."
Love is Chris checking out several books from the library. We won't read them, but it will give Isaac something to take back to the library whenever we swing by -- and it won't be a book one of his brothers is still reading.
Love is spending a lot of money on biomedical intervention and seeing positive changes, such as a little boy and his parents finally being able to sleep through the night. We were saving for a rainy day, and it was raining . . .
Love is hearing Henry say, "People don't always understand Isaac's autism, and it gets him into trouble sometimes."
Love is seeing Noah and Henry, huddled together under blankets, while one watches the other play the Nintendo DSi.
Love is hearing Isaac use his speech-generating device to say, "I love you. YMCA open!"