Valentines

for Valentine's.

A few years ago I wrote a poem called Valentine.  It goes like this:

Valentine

Of all the things I like to do
I like them best when I'm with you
Of all the trips and chances to take
I take them with you, for heaven's sake
Of all the shows and things to see
The art to view and new melody
The food to eat and games to play
Of all the frigging words I say
Of all the challenges, of all the chores
Of all the opening or closing doors
Of all the jokes and every prank
Of all my lucky stars I thank
I'm just so happy it's all with you
My life feels best when it's lived with you.

The best, truest kind of poetry has words like "frigging." Had it been around, I'm certain Emily Dickinson would have used it copiously. 

Sean is a special kind of husband-human. I love him for the exact same reasons as from the very beginning, with 20 years of complexity added. As a way to introduce him and our son, I've compiled a list of moments I get to witness as examples to help you understand my feelings and to give tribute to the best of the best. Because they deserve it. 

1. When I watch Sean do math with our son, age 13. He and Julian are some kind of dynamic duo. Julian's superpower is raging against the machine and Sean's is keeping calm amidst a myriad of storms including sharknados and of the "perfect" variety. Like, should there be a storm, Sean resides in the eye. Is the eye? Same goes for tempestuous math. The two battle and negotiate. Julian's a born wheeler and dealer. In fact, speaking to this amidst recent Christmas coercion, Sean said to me,
   
   "He has good points. That's the problem. I'm susceptible to good arguments."
   
   But for math, Sean knows how to bide his time and infiltrate when you least expect it, keeping you engaged without your completely knowing.  Often they maddeningly realize the math teacher at the middle school several times gets the problems wrong in the answer key. So not only do they learn the math correctly in spite of her, (“she must have written it down wrong. Why didn’t she show her work? Show your work!”) but they come together in compassion for the teacher who, let's face it, is only human and "gave it a good effort" and "seems to at least have a good understanding of the concept."  

2. When I watch Sean help Julian shave his face. Pubescence struck early and this is a practiced ritual, yet I still take immense joy when I hear Sean calmly and repeatedly remind Julian that "so far we've never had to shave your forehead" so he doesn't need to put the cream everywhere on his face.  

3. Sometimes we'll all go to the gym together. I'll do a machine on the inside lane of the track while they run. Sean feels called out yet supported as he runs next to Julian who then begins to keep pace whilst walking, silently encouraging Sean to pick it up a little.  The scene is wonderful to survey from my elliptical point of view. 

I have another poem. It's called Favorite, and it goes like this:

Favorite
Favorite, favorite, favorite boy.
Favorite friend and tickle toy.
Favorite reading buddy and nighttime talker
Favorite walk around the block-er.
Favorite prankster and co-surpriser
Favorite theorist and philosophizer
Favorite pal and my dream come true
Yes, my favorite favorite thing is YOU.

It's so frustrating how fast kids change. When faced with an item-turned relic, be it a photo, something drawn or written or a statement made by the child, feeling gaslit by time, I find myself constantly wanting to remind/yell to no one, "YOU KNOW, THIS USED TO BE CURRENT."  A fossil has a way of keeping a record of what was, just as it was, while also, by definition, being something really really old from very long ago.  I must resign to nature and consider this poem love fossilized. Something that was and still is, just with some added complexity.