My Favorite Valentine's Day

Back in the day! (The night before Grant left on his mission, June 1999.)

Valentine's Day and I haven't always had the best relationship.  I can't say I hate it, but I don't get super wrapped up in it, either. I loved it as a little girl -- prepping my valentines and my decorated shoe box to take to school and then giggling as I rummaged through the contents later that day, hoping for a special note from a friend or a card from the boy I thought I was cute. My favorite year was when my sister Melissa helped me make my box look like a phone with heart-shaped buttons. I thought it was so cool! I remember my mom making awesome Rice Krispies Treats shaped like Hershey Kisses -- she would use a funnel to shape them and then wrap them in (sprayed!) aluminum foil. We would help by supplying the handwritten tags -- strips of white paper with "Hershey's Kisses" written in blue colored pencil. That's one of my favorite memories.

Then I became a teenager, and along came all the self-consciousness that definitely comes with adolescence and sometimes comes with Valentine's Day. Junior High Valentine's Days felt like the rest of Junior High -- mostly awkward. Luckily, while I was in Junior High, I met my lifelong BFFs, and my high school Valentine's Days became bearable, especially with the help of the "Val-o-grams" our Seminary would facilitate every year. You could pay for little heart-shaped note cards, write a message on them, and then they would deliver them to you throughout the week leading up to Valentine's Day. Note-passing gone public. And everyone loved it. I remember getting an especially meaningful one from a boy I had gone to Sadie Hawkins with the previous fall, but we never made it to the dance because we got into a car accident on the way to the dance. He told me in the note how sorry he was that he had never asked me out since to make up for it (and then he never did ... which is okay but a little silly!). It meant a lot to me that he would think about that and send me such a thoughtful note.

Other than that, I can't say that I ever had any very special Valentine's Days. I seemed to always break up with my boyfriends right before the big day (coincidence?!).  I remember my second year at Ricks, I had gone home for my birthday weekend, and decided to make giant sugar cookies to take back to my roommates. They were the biggest, yummiest, cutest-decorated cookies I have ever made. I have tried to replicate them in years since, but have never been able to.  It was so fun to surprise my roommates with a box of special treats and celebrate our friendship together.

The other day, however, I did remember that I DO have a special Valentine's Day on the books.  I flew home from my mission on February 13th. Grant was at the airport when I got home. I was grateful that his sister prepped me for that with a letter I received in the mail literally the day before I flew out. Otherwise I would have been completely blindsided! Grant and I weren't boyfriend-girlfriend while we were on our missions. In fact, we both left a different significant other at home. But we had been close friends for almost six years by the time I got home from my mission, and he had been a great support to me while I was on my mission. Our missions overlapped about 10 months, and I loved having a friend that could relate to my experiences. I loved that we both learned Spanish, and that he was far enough along in his mission by the time I was starting mine that he could reassure me that I really would be able to understand and speak the language during the times when I was so overwhelmed and frustrated. He shared great advice for me about getting along with companions, becoming a trainer, loving the people, and throwing my heart into the work. We definitely grew closer through that experience. I love that in some ways we "shared" our missions. And even though our fellow missionaries knew that we had each been "Dear John/Janed" by our significant others, we each got teased whenever we got letters or packages from the other. The Elders in my district would (tactfully, of course) say, "Hey Hermana, we thought your boyfriend dumped you." To which I would dully reply, "He did, thanks." "Then what are these packages?!" they would say as they dropped off our mail from the mission office. "They're from a friend," I would say. "Hm, mm," was their answer, "Friends don't send packages like this." I'm glad to know Grant got his share of teasing, too. I ended up in a Spanish class at BYU with some of Grant's mission friends the summer after I got home. When we pieced that connection together one day, one of the guys said to me, "Hey, you're 'Spain girl'!" Cute.

So when I flew home from my mission, knowing Grant was going to be there waiting, I admit I was pretty nervous. The girl I was sitting next to on the plane, also a returned missionary, kept teasing me about how many times I went to the bathroom. I admit, I was a nervous wreck. And I was SO awkward with Grant! For 18 months I had lived a "no boys" lifestyle -- it was no flirting, no dating, handshakes-only, serious business! How the heck was I supposed to talk to a boy who meant a lot to me, a boy I had dated before?! I didn't know. So I greeted him politely (probably with a handshake) and muttered something about needing to go get my luggage. Luckily, he understood completely, and just smiled as he watched my freshly returned missionary weirdness in action.  It was very late at night, I was completely jet-lagged, could barely speak English, reeked of all the cigarette smoke that had been blown on me for the past 16 months in Spain -- what an awesome impression to make after not seeing him for over 2 1/2 years!

Fast forward to the next jet-lagged day. I popped up right out of bed, read my scriptures at the kitchen table, feeling very weird to not have a companion sitting right next to me, went to the dentist appointment I had begged my mom to make (I could tell you stories about dental work in Spain ...), and hung out in a dress for the rest of the day, wondering what I did with myself before mission life.  Imagine my horror when Grant called and invited me to ... an Air Supply concert, of all things! Wow, forward! I felt bad declining his offer, because we both felt like that would be the awesomest night of mocking cheesy 80s love ballads ever (our relationship has always been filled with sarcasm, and to this day I regret missing such an opportunity!), but besides the trickiness of racing up to Salt Lake City right after being released, I didn't feel right about ditching my family on my first full day home. My mom was already in process of making one of my favorite dishes (you can't walk out on sweet and sour chicken!!). So ... I invited him to dinner. I did. Grant came and had dinner with me and my family on my first night home. He sat in the hot seat, right next to my dad, whom I remember clearly looking completely baffled and maybe even mouthing the words to my mom, "Didn't she have a different boyfriend when she left?!" Not really, but I think given what the guy who sent me out had put me through, not to mention he just barely got his daughter back from a year and a half of living abroad with minimal contact, my dad was understandably in protective mode.  

So that night, Valentine's Day of all days, we had dinner with my family. Grant survived a fair amount of grilling from my dad, who raised an eyebrow at Grant when he mentioned he was considering law school (my dad's an attorney and has worked tirelessly at talking Grant out of his decision, probably since that night!). I gave Grant the Barcelona soccer jersey I bought him. We snubbed each other's Spanish, and he told me all the words I was saying that were completely offensive to Central and South Americans (for which all the missionaries I taught at the MTC should be forever grateful!). He took me for a ride in his pride and joy at the time -- a '93 red Ford Probe (there are more stories to be told about that beauty ... another day!). He held my hand. I knew things were headed in a good direction. I was surprised how quickly (hi, day after I got home!) it all started coming together. I was so immensely grateful to not have to enter the dating game again. I felt in my heart that things were meant to be with Grant, that there was a reason Heavenly Father kept nudging us together and reminding us what great friends we had in one another.

Grant and I have both admitted to each other that we each secretly hoped things would work out between us. It wasn't something we necessarily dwelled on or tried to force, but it was one of those relationships where you could see yourself with that kind of person and thinking, "It would be really cool if that worked out." That was the year Valentine's Day and I turned a corner. I think I knew then that every Valentine's Day after that would be different. I would have something to celebrate instead of avoid or just survive. I don't know that we're fanatics, and I definitely do not believe you have to have a significant other to enjoy the holiday, but looking back on V-day 2002 makes me smile. Because it was the beginning of Grant and Monica being together. For good. Forever. And like most of our story, that night is filled with funny, goofy, awkward, happy, but also very sincere and very loving feelings.