Could I be anything other than crabby about Valentine's Day? I'm so crabacious most every other day of the year. So could you really come to me looking for a big read heart around this blog today?

But truly, I am a romantic. And that's why I'm ticked off on Val Day. It's not just about keeping up appearances that I crab before you now. It's about the saccharine and nonsensical tradition of involving small children in the ritual of handing out cards to each other. It's about dishing out sweet tarts with words like "be mine" to little ones who can't possibly know what they're asking or being asked. And the fact is, nobody seems to mind that this is just another mindless excuse to buy junk and get candy and celebrate something nobody quite understands.

When I grew up in South Africa, Valentine's Day was this wonderfully mysterious and romantic occurrence. The idea was to give cards anonymously (i.e., signed with a question mark) to those for whom you felt a true passion. You could get a little polygamous in your card-sending if you wanted, but never did you send to your friends, in-laws, or any other platonic connection. And never did small people in pull-ups get roped into the game. I still recall receiving one mysterious Valentine in my mailbox when I was fifteen. I never did figure out who sent it. And I like it that way. Where a whiff of romance can be had in the mystery and tots aren't handing out "I love yous" to people they can't possibly love and who haven't the faintest clue what the word means.

On this one day of the year when romance is meant to be represented in the form of red hearts, wouldn't it be nice if we could all forgo the gimmickry and really feel something genuine, just for once? Valentine's Day by nature should be exclusive. Yet like all things these days it's a party where everyone is invited. Even—and especially—the little ones.

So yeah, I think it's dumb. But I'm cutting out paper hearts with the rest of you for Crabtot's preschool card exchange. Who wants to be the lead balloon when everyone else is enjoying themselves? Who wants to be the sour Valentine's Day party pooper? Who wants to say "I hate this" on the day when everyone says "I love you." Except that saying "I love you" doesn't mean you mean it. Especially with kiddos. Heck, they often barely even like each other. Love? That's asking too much.

So why do we ask? In our culture we ask—no, demand—that everyone be special all the time and that things like Valentine's day be an all-inclusive free-for-all, incorporating even children into the specialness of a day whose importance is totally lost on them. A day when we all love each other. A day when we all feel special and make each other feel special.

What's so special about that?

p.s. I wrote all of this yesterday, but when I picked up Crabtot from school and she proudly showed me a pink-sequined card she had made, even my crustaceous heart melted. (Okay, maybe it just thawed. A weentsy little bit.)