Why should I bother checking the post, I grumbled to myself as I was blown in by an icy howler into my building. I’ve already had my Bill of the Day- 200 something dollars for the golden boy’s daycare handed to me brightly with a smile early this morning. True, those daycare attendants are worth their weight in gold, and they make dreams possible for us rebel mums. But still, I can do without another bill to blight my day. Phone, tv, electricity…
Nevertheless, propelled by the force of masochism, I went to my postbox and opened it.
The usual tumble of screaming flyers, which I have learned at high cost to ignore and quickly shove in the special flyer bin. The usual weird letter for the past tenants of the apartment by the ocean. Who are these people- how come they still get letters? No bills? No, no bills. But something else, something very very unusual, something which I haven’t seen for a very long time, in this day of e-mails and SMSs and IMs and cheap phone cards.
A handwritten envelope, with local postage. And what made it even more surprising was that it was addressed clearly to “Mr. Golden Boy,… Halifax, NS”
I looked at it suspiciously, turned it over. No return address. Some crazy government dept writing about his government stuff? But since when did they address the child, instead of the mother? and when did government people start writing, instead of using typed letter? I turned it over. Stopped myself from sniffing at it. Then, eventually, I opened it.
A cute purple piece of paper fell out. Someone had stuck a paper lacy doily rather clumsily, and a cut-out pink heart. The scissor marks were all over the heart and the edges of the paper. Beneath the heart, in big wobbly letters, someone had written: To Mr. Golden Boy (they used his real name).
I thought of my boy with his funny squinty eyes, one of them now all bruised and purple after a bad quarrel with the coffee-table last week. His wide open grin and little white teeth. His chubby cheeks the colour of caramel, and his soft soft hair the colour of dark gold sunshine. A valentine. A real proper valentine card for my softy goldy boy.
Well. It may be his first valentine, but certainly isn`t going to be his last, this much I know. Poor poor mummy.