When I was growing up in the 70s, there was a daily cartoon titled Love Is.  Each little vignette featured a black and white drawing of two child-like figures, male and female, who for some reason, were always naked.  Rounding out this pen and ink cuteness was a quotation, oozing sentiment.  Love is…’living for each other’.  Love is…’being able to say you’re sorry’ **.   As a young girl, I thought they were the best thing ever.

This morning, I skidded across the kitchen floor in my socks through some Wheatabix that someone forgot to tell me they spilled.  I bit my tongue before I could threaten to withhold Christmas presents and I had one of those “Eureka!” moments.  This, I realized, this is what love is.

Love is…sitting through Alvin and the Chipmunks, the Squeakuel 35 times and laughing when your children expect you to laugh;

Love is…tucking in your children every night before you go to bed because you have an irrational fear that if you don’t, something bad is going to happen;

Love is….cheerfully contemplating grievous bodily harm toward the one that breaks your child’s heart;

Love is….making realistic Chewbacca noises on the floor because it was the little one’s turn to choose and he picked Star Wars.  Again;

Love is….dragging your kids to sports practice, pre-caffeinated, on a Saturday morning;

Love is….finding the recognizable object in a piece of kindergarten art;

Love is….relinquishing (remote) control;

Love is….letting your husband sulk a bit when England loses on penalties.  Again;

Love is….enthusiastically doing a Boy Scout cheer, even though it makes you feel all icky inside, like a gawky teenager;

Love is….turning the other way when your child announces that turquoise and red go together well;

Love is….throwing up in the tub so that your kids can use the toilet when the family is playing vomit roulette;

Love is….stopping what you are doing to “come, see!”;

Love is…picking out bits of Lego from the vacuum cleaner;

Love is…crossing your eyes until your brain hurts so your children can learn how to do it too;

Love is…correctly guessing that the off-key whistling is indeed the theme tune to Raiders of the Lost Ark;

Love is…moving into the cold spot when your children snuggle up in bed with you;

Love is…”No, honey, you go and play golf!  The kids and I will be just fine!”;

Love is…the realization that you would chew your arm off, 127 Hours Style, if it meant saving your children pain;

Love is…having a pocket full of rubber bands, a bag full of dirty bottle caps, and a purse full of crap because your kids think life is a big treasure hunt (and maybe they’re right);

Love is…getting a little misty when it’s time to retire Goodnight Moon;

Love is…stopping at construction sites so your children can watch.  Even when you’re on vacation.  In another country;

Love is…. going skiing when you’d rather be on the beach;

Love is…not saying “I told you so”.  Or at least not every, single time;

Love is…letting your children make mistakes;

Love is…letting your partner make mistakes;

Love is…letting yourself make mistakes;

Love is…realizing that life and marriage and parenting are messy and sloppy and can’t be defined or limited or summed up in a Hallmark sentiment.

And with that, I am off to wash the Wheatabix off my socks.

**Sappiness apparently pays.  According to Wikipedia Kim Casali, the originator of the comic strip, made 4-5 million GBP per year at the height of the strip’s popularity.  It still runs today, though it’s drawn and written by someone else.  And they have clothes on.