Where's the love?

I don't really get Valentine's Day. Maybe it's because I spent so much time in non-American schools. And then again, maybe it's just me. For instance, I did get the notice that Meggie's preschool would be having a Valentine's Day party. I did not glean from this note the implied message that I should send the child to school with cards or candy for 25 classmates. I'm sure it was there, between the lines, but I just didn't see it. I thought the flyer served merely as an announcement that all children (both Monday-Wednesday-Friday kids and Tuesday-Thursday kids) were welcome to attend school today. Oops. When I picked up Meggie today, I realized my mistake and apologized profusely to the teacher, who said that it had worked out fine, as Meggie distributed the extras. I'm sure she didn't notice the difference, but I felt bad. Oh well.

I got a kick out of watching the people at the market making their Valentine's Day purchases. I saw a soldier scurrying to his car with his bouquet, trying to rush blossoms out of the cold. I gave him a smile, and he chuckled and shrugged a "What's a guy to do?" The supermarket staff set up a special wrapping section where a woman tied Mylar balloons to vases and roses to pink stuffed animals. I saw my town's florist -- the one who has the FTD contract -- zipping around in her delivery vehicle several times.

All of this escapes me. I like observing it. And I love to see people receive their presents, but it seems to me that the things we do on Valentine's Day are the things we should do often, if we care for each other, but with a little less pink.

But I did dress the girls in Valentine's clothes today. And I tried to capture them during a very wiggly photo session. It was rushed, because I wedged it between breakfast, which takes forever when a child arranges her bowl of Frosted Wheats into shapes and pictures between every bite (taken under the threat of a time-out), and the always delayed departure for preschool.

Despite my poor preparation (the teacher assured me that preschool-parenting is "a learning process," although I had it in my head that it was the kid who was being educated), Meggie had a lovely holiday. She always does.

Pink picture time.

"Meggie, Laurel doesn't need to wave."

"Sweetheart, stop singing, please, so we can take these pictures."

"OK, that's a good one."

"Whoops! Hold on to sister, Meggie. She's slipping."

"Meggie, your hair's fine. Don't mess with it."

"I guess we're done."