Sometimes I forget the whimsy of this day, laden with colorful hearts and kisses and cards. But you, children, did not. You each meandered over to me in the kitchen this morning with your bird nest hair and soggy breath just to squeeze whatever part of me you could reach and say, “happy valentine’s day mom.” I had barely enough time to fill your bowls with fresh berries and oatmeal before you had taken off to a world of construction paper, markers, and scissors. I felt like a shmuck. I didn’t have a valentine for any of my Loves (even the grown one). So here it is. My paper heart. Because as you know, you all already have my own. Happy Valentine’s Day.