I cringe every time I hear that excuse from anti-holiday-types. While the role of wife and mother (often to the exclusion of singletons or pro-childless, unmarried, sexually experienced females) are indeed elevated positions in Islam — if the lovely sentiment above was really put into practice, I’d be receiving flowers more often than just once a year.
I wouldn’t have to say, “HEY! Where’s MY KISS?” whenever the Hubby came home. I wouldn’t consider brushing my teeth enough effort to “beautify myself for my husband.” I wouldn’t forfeit candles and rose petals strewed upon satin sheets for piles of tinker toys and stuffed animals on a spaghetti-stained couch. I might even get a ring or breakfast in bed more often than the one time we got married.
But this is more a reflection of life with child and less a reflection of the Hubby or myself being observant “every-day-is-Valentine’s-Day-in-Islam” Muslims. I may not be the most romantic type, but I make a killer Shepherd’s Pie and my massages are to die for. I’ve just had a baby attached to me for 2.5 years — which makes massages and candle-light dinners more difficult to pull off.
Hence relying on the alluring power of freshly brushed teeth.
To tell the truth, the Hubby is the romantic one in this relationship: from kisses on the head to corny, “Just dip your finger in the tea dear. You’re sweet enough for me.” And when he does Valentine’s Day, he puts out the red carpet.
Among the most memorable was sending me flowers with a gorgeous Doctor Who quote when he was away on business — and when Eryn was 6 months old and I was STILL afraid to breastfeed in public, he rented our condo’s “movie theater” to show me District 9. It was her first movie. It came with gourmet cheese cakes (yes… plural)!
But if it weren’t for this commercially constructed (with debatable Pagan roots) holiday, I’d probably never see one bouquet of flowers. And I really like getting flowers once a year!
So to all the haters harassing and shaming unmarried couples, protesting, arresting people, and banning V Day because a little more romance with a loved one on an arbitrary day in February somehow threatens your concept of social and moral order more than a daily barrage of MTV, Jersey Shore or listening to Katy Perry in-between Qur’an recitations on your local radio station, I give you the man who darned his own socks, searched his clothes for lice, comforted his wives when they cried, and never, ever laid a hand on women in anger:
Once the prophet was sitting in a room with Aisha and fixing his shoes. It was very warm, and Aisha looked to his forehead and noticed beads of sweat on it. She became overwhelmed by the majesty of that sight and stared at him long enough for him to notice.
He said, “What’s the matter?” She replied, “If Abu Bukair Al-Huthali, the poet, saw you, he would know that his poem was written for you. He said if you looked to the majesty of the moon, it twinkles and lights up the world for everybody to see.”
The Prophet got up, walked to Aisha, kissed her between the eyes, and said, “Wallahi ya Aisha, you are like that to me and more.”