There are the kinds of cards you keep on the mantel for a week or so, and then there are the cards you tuck into a special box or memento drawer, thinking that someday you might want to read them again. They are that special. Maybe they were homemade. Maybe someone included a handwritten message. Perhaps you knew the person sending the card might not be around forever, and you wanted to hang on to it like a future hug. The cards I am about to tell you about are on a whole different level. These are the cards that will forever define Valentine’s Day for our family.

We are just an ordinary family, but sometimes something extraordinary happens, and we run with it like a kid in brand-new sneakers. That is what happened in February 2013.

As a mom, I was over the holiday season. Completely done. There were traces of red and green glitter in the nooks of the hardwood floors. Christmas toys were barely interesting anymore. I was still carrying an extra eight pounds from cookies and fudge, and suddenly it was time to create some kind of holiday hype around Valentine’s Day.

My kids were at that age where the DIY lollipop cards were not cool, yet they still expected a full-on pink-heart explosion of candy and stuffed animals. The retail world knows exactly how to gut-punch moms when we are most vulnerable. They know we are slightly melancholy over the end of the big holiday hustle and the return to school routines. We are relieved our kids are back in school, yet part of us wants to hold on a little longer. Then, just as we are about to check out at Target, we run heart-first into the Love aisle, and suddenly our carts are full of satin heart boxes and pink polka-dot plush puppies.

That year, maybe I was ill, maybe I was in a perimenopause predicament. I honestly do not remember. What I do remember is that I had not purchased a single Valentine. No cards. No stuffed kittens. No chocolate. No cinnamon gummy hearts.

It was probably a Tuesday. That sounds right.

I asked the girls, ages 9, 10, and 11, if we could do a fancy Valentine’s dinner instead of the usual fuss and fanfare. I must have sold it well, because they agreed. All they wanted was shrimp scampi and chocolate-covered strawberries. We decided to eat at the real table, use the good dishes, and drink sparkling grape juice.

At some point, the girls started arguing about who would sit where and who ate more strawberries. It is all a blur. To redirect the chaos, I told them they each needed to write a note to their sisters, expressing what they liked about them. My husband and I decided we should also write each child a quick Valentine letter.

There we were, letters scrawled in crayons and markers, passing them out like we used to do in elementary school. We placed a letter at each girl’s spot at the table.

That is where the magic happened. Instead of reading the letters quietly, I said, “Read your letters out loud, one at a time.”

This seemingly simple decision was serendipitous.

As the first sister read her letter, the sister who wrote it began to grin. As the words continued, the reader started to gush. Hearing the words out loud made them land differently.

The early letters were not particularly poetic. In fact, they were very simple.

“I like your hair.”

“I like that you helped me with my spelling words.”

“I like when you sang me that song when I was scared.”

My husband and I grew emotional watching what was happening at the table. Then it was our turn. As he read the letter I had written him, his voice began to quiver. He paused to gather himself. A tear slipped out of one eye, blowing his cool-dad cover.

And just like that, a tradition was born. An annual Valentine’s dinner with letter writing, shrimp scampi, and side bets on how long Dad could make it without tearing up.

When we moved to Texas during the girls’ middle school years, the letters felt especially meaningful. One sister wrote, “I saw you stand up for that girl who was being bullied.” Another wrote, “You did a really good job on your high school audition.” And another, “I know you want to make the team, and I hope you do.”

These are the kinds of words tween sisters often withhold, not because they do not mean them, but because it is easier to poke and provoke than to openly encourage.

Just when I thought the tradition could not get any sweeter, we hosted a foreign exchange student named Giulia. She is a beautiful young woman from Sicily, and hosting her for nearly a year was an incredible experience. Her English was quite good, but writing a letter in English was more challenging.

As we showered Giulia with heartfelt letters about how much she meant to our family, her letters to us were priceless. We all cried. Realizing that our love had crossed cultures and would be forever remembered was deeply moving.

There was also the year my niece lived with us while finishing college. She is a God-sent angel and very private. She did not grow up with a father figure, so living with us gave her a front-row seat to what my girls have been blessed to have, not just a present dad, but a fully engaged one.

When she read my husband’s letter of love and encouragement, she was incredibly vulnerable. It was pivotal. I truly believe it made a lasting impact on her life.

Now that my girls are in college and adulthood, Valentine’s Day often includes a FaceTime call while my husband and I gather around the table. We mail our Valentine letters these days. Even without being physically together, the love in each letter transcends the paper. It feels like a cupid’s arrow straight to the heart.

It is lovely, to say the least, that a handwritten message can lift our spirits so perfectly. Just like sisters who know each other better than they know themselves, the letters always seem to say “I love you” in exactly the right way.

The Rules of Valentine Letters

Everyone writes to everyone.
Say what you admire, not what is easy.
Read letters out loud, one at a time.
No phones, no distractions, and no rushing.

Kimberly Falconer is married to David and mom to four daughters, one in heaven. She’s a mixed media artist under the name Kennedi Benjamin and a national health coach for Weight Watchers. Based in Texas, she shares joy, color, and helps others live their joy life as a podcaster. Follow her @LivingYourJoyLife. Listen on Spotify @LivingyourJOYlife.

Austin Family Magazine

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