Posted by Duff

It’s funny, how love reveals itself, both in the things you’ll do for others and the way they show you they care. 

I’ve never been one for Valentine’s Day. I’m a big fan of love, in general. I’ve done unrequited (lots of that) and loved and lost, and found love in unforeseen places, and I’m grateful for it everyday–but I’m not really one to go all out on the day I’m supposed to, because I don’t like to be told what to do.

I know, I sound like a sourpuss.  Believe me, I got the ass-kicking I deserved.

Last week, we added a new cat to our family.  I know, no one cares about the new cat, and it’s not a story of the love of a new cat. The meat of it is this: the cat likes my kids better than she likes me, and that’s fine. Except my husband and I were the ones who discovered the fallout from the cat’s discovery: diapers have some of the same ingredients as cat litter.  And the cat crapped on Valentine’s Day, literally.

She snuck into Atticus’s room when I went to check on him the night before and was stuck in there for the night, and well, Happy Valentines Day to me.  Atticus woke up, delighted by his companion. I was not so delighted by the surprise I found. 

Later that day, Atticus and I went for a walk in the melting snow. Thanks to the magic of smartphones and Pandora, as he stomped through puddles in his Buzz Lightyear boots, we got to listen to REM’s Fall on Me. Add that to the C’mon mama of a nearly two-year-old who beams at you with eyes as blue as the sky of an unseasonably warm day and you get what my grinchly heart much needed and got:

One of life’s perfect moments.