When we were first married I used to buy Russ a candy bar every so often. Unfortunately, I always ate it before he got home. “Russ, I bought you a candy bar today!” I would exclaim upon his return.
“Great! Where is it?”
“Well, I ate it. But I bought it so that you would feel loved.”
“I might feel more loved if you hadn’t eaten it.”
So then I started buying two for him and I would only eat one.
We’ve rarely expressed our love with big gifts. The fact that we closed on a house on my birthday was a happy coincidence. It did, however, cause the lawyer to wonder aloud how Russ would ever be able to top that purchase.
A lot of the outward expressions of love today are manifested in renovations to the house to make our life easier, extended flower gardens that lighten the soul, acts of kindness on a daily basis, and a cedar chest filled with cards and letters.
When the kids were young I saved handmade cards. These would often reflect their educational growth or the reality of their daily lives.
When Peter was 4, he crafted a Mother’s Day card with pictures from an old Sears catalogue. They were attached with a glue made of flour and paste. The result was a very thick card loaded with pictures of women in nursing bras. Clearly, he had been affected by the births of his 2 younger sisters.
In the early days when the kids earned pocket money from chores, love came wrapped with a lot of tape. Little china angels, a coffee cup filled with hard candy, a package of bath oil beads expressed their young hearts. I have a penchant for angels and bubble baths. Since I don’t drink coffee I know the selling point of the mug was the candy and the price.
Now that I am a grandmother, or a Monya to be exact, I find that I am more tuned in to the expressions of love that come my way. Perhaps it’s because it’s so unexpected and lavish and full.
My second grandson, Dominic, spent a lot of time when he was an infant in my arms. Because he was a very contented child I often rocked him to sleep while his busy mama tended to his brother who was 2 and a bit persnickety. At 6, Domi still barrels through the door on arrival and begins to hunt through the house for me. When he finds me, he launches himself into my arms and clings to my neck for a prolonged hug. When we visit at their house, he always rushes toward me to be gathered up into my arms.
This past summer he spent the 5 ½ hour drive to Maine clutching a book in his hands that he ‘had to show me’. Upon arrival he catapulted from the Jeep, met me at the door, and had me sit so that he could reveal to me a picture of an immense flower garden. “I wanted you to see this picture. I knew you would like it.” What can I say? I feel the love.
I have a relationship with each of the four grandchildren and sleep overs have routines that they’ve come to love. We read a lot. We puzzle over Hardy boy stories with Karl, search for Waldo with Dominic, chorus ‘I don’t like green eggs and ham’ with Antonia, while Trinity mimics animal sounds when she finds the correct animals in her picture books. We are constantly encountering new reading adventures at every age. And most of these will be experienced while rocking with me in Monya’s chair and snuggled in a blanket.
One of our family traditions is to make statements of our love. The bigger, the better. I love you as high as the sky. I love you as wide as the ocean. I love you more. I love you more than that.
Antonia, at 3, is just beginning to get in on the definitions.
The other day she began, “Monya, I love you as high as the house.” That’s big. “I love you as tall as that tree.” Wow. “I love you as big as a chicken.” She paused, cocked her head to one side, frowned, and, “I don’t love you as tall as a chicken. That’s too little.” I agree, I love her more.
