I get anywhere from one to a dozen of these a day. Some are colored and/or painted, some are “free-style” drawings, some are just little words of sentiment written on scratch paper.
Most of the time, they are presented to me like this:
“Close your eyes, Mom.”
I listen. Close my eyes. Pretend I have no idea what’s happening.
“Now, open them!” they squeal, staring up at me, their heart pounding. I look down at them standing with their arms outstretched, gripping their masterpiece tightly for me to see.
And for a second, all is quiet…And, then it happens, that moment. The moment they have been waiting for…my reaction.
“Oooooooo….(gasp…sigh, hand to my heart) I just looooooove it! Thank YOU sooo much!” I practically sing these words as if I had just won an oscar. “I’ll have to hang this up/put it where I keep my special treasures/show Dad!….”
They beam, proud as can be, and rush off to make more jaw-dropping creations.
This little performance is acted out time and time, again. And it’s cool, and it’s neat, and I appreciate all of these little gifts I’m given throughout the day, I really do. BUT—
…sometimes…every once-in-awhile, I’ll find these ‘little works of art’ lying on my pillow or on top of my dresser or even tucked inside my purse. During these times, there isn’t a “close your eyes” prequel, there isn’t a need for the song-and-dance routine. I find these “love notes” alone, by myself…little surprises they have planted for me.
And then all of a sudden, I’m the one gripping their masterpiece so tightly…my heart pounding…and for a second, all is quiet, and it’s…me…who is caught up in that moment, in my own reaction…gasp..sigh…hand to my heart…