Guest Post: Why I stopped giving my wife gifts for Valentine's Day (by Paul, Bethany's husband)

I don't know how the tradition first started (and this was way before Pinterest, Whitney), but every February as I was growing up, I got valentines from my dad. We all did, my mom, my sister and I, in what we called "the 12 days of Valentines." Beginning each February 3rd, my dad would secretly set out a gift each day, accompanied by a valentine. The gifts were usually bulk candies set in a cut glass teacup (cinnamon hot lips made a frequent appearance) and the valentines connected the gift  - sometimes it was a stretch - to the number of the day. My dad freely admits that he nabbed many of the gifts at random from grocery store shelves in desperation after realizing that he hadn't prepared for that day yet. That's how we got "On the eighth day - eight pudding cups (divided by two)" or "If you carrot all, be my valentine" to accompany, of course, a bag of carrots.

Classy, dad. Nothing says love like pudding cups.

Each day the gifts appeared magically on the hearth or on the piano bench, somehow always set out without us noticing. Always the final gift, on the 12th day, was something special. My first wristwatch arrived on the 12th day one year. Another year we got new gloves for an upcoming cross-country ski trip. In college (yes, he kept sending me stuff in college) it was an Elvis' No. 1 Hits CD.

So as Bethany and I started dating and our first February approached (Bethany is my first and my forever Valentine) I figured I'd carry on the tradition. I only remember a few of the gifts from that year. I'm sure I glued conversation hearts to a 3x5 card and filled in the words to make a message - one of Dad's perennials. I remember the orange plastic water bottle from day one (how romantic) only because we still have it.

I also remember, and will never forget, day nine, the day I proposed - "A ring to make your other nine fingers jealous." My gift shopping had included a stop at the jeweler's in the mall. The moment was unexpected and magical. I haven't been able to top it yet.

As you can tell from our apparel in this re-enactment, she said yes.

I continued giving gifts each year after we were married, but 12 days' worth of gifts, even as cheaply as I could pull them together from dollar stores and Rite-Aids, didn't fit into our tiny student budget. So, for our fifth Valentine's together, I changed my tack. I would do all free gifts. I made a plan that called for about 12 sheets of paper. You'd be surprised how many things you can make with paper.  How could she not love an origami piano, when we were still too poor to afford a real one, or her favorite scripture, rendered in calligraphy by hand? And surely, I thought, the gifts would mean even more because of all the time I put into each meticulous piece. I was sure it would be perfect.

It wasn't. Every spare second, starting in late January, was filled with cutting, drawing, tracing, and folding. I was under pressure, and Bethany could feel it. The magic that I'd hoped to create was swallowed in stress as I breathlessly presented a gift only to wonder how I could finish the next. Sometimes I'd have to dedicate an evening to "gift work," and I'd cut and fold while Bethany waited or worked in another room. The 12 Days were cutting into our time together.

It's a paper Taj Mahal. Only slightly less work to construct than the actual thing.

Are thoughtful treasures for your spouse, chosen with love and sometimes crafted by hand, worth it? Absolutely. Is Bethany worth any sacrifice of my time, energy, or resources? No question. But was the tradition of 12 consecutive days of gifts bringing us closer together and bringing magic into my sweetheart's life? We agreed that it was not and, after one more year of strictly store-bought gifts, decided it was time for the tradition to end.

But I had loved the challenge of expressing my love twelve different ways. I loved pouring a little creativity into something that would make her smile. How could I preserve the heart of the 12 Days while jettisoning the stress? The answer arrived in Bethany's inbox on February 3rd, a year after we had moved on from the 12 Days. My e-mail to her was short, heartfelt and, for her, totally unexpected:

"On the first day of Valentines. . . You are the only ONE for me," it began. 

In the eleven e-mails that followed, Bethany and I rediscovered the fun and the delight of the 12 Days of Valentines. No pressure. No cost.

So, three years later, I still do the 12 Days. But now there are no folded paper Taj Mahals, no plastic hearts filled with M&Ms, no bulk candies. I've found a better way. I write notes to Bethany because it's fun for both of us - I smile as I write them, and she smiles as she reads them. The worse my awkward rhyming couplets are, the better.

Which brings us to this year. Each day since Monday, Bethany has found a note, hidden where she'll run into it in the course of the day. The notes are a cheesy celebration of all the fun we have together, tackily written on folded pieces of plain paper and groan-inducingly connected to one of the 12 Days of Valentines. I hope each one of these notes, and each moment in which Bethany finds them, is filled with surprise, love and magic.