Year of Writing 49 The note.

2/19/12

Sunday is cleaning day, most of the time. I start with one corner of a room (choose one, it makes no difference) that looks like a herd of some new breed of disgusting rhinoceros made out of snacks, plastic food containers and children's toys has traipsed through, sloughing off its body willy nilly.  I then attempt to make this corner semi-presentable, ultimately getting sidetracked by some long lost piece to a game which then must be played, or article of clothing which sends me down to the laundry room where I end up re-organizing tools, or some other unrelated task.  Today's distraction was way better.  Today I found a valentine, meant for me but forgotten in the shuffle of artistic triumphs that came home from preschool that day.  The front was a white heart pasted cockeyed onto red paper, with a purple plastic gem awkwardly glued in the middle.  I immediately assumed it was another one of her princess creations, perhaps an invitation to a ball of some sort.  But upon opening the card, and seeing the words Dad I love you, written with such determination and care that the d's and e's were erased until they came out perfectly - I almost completely lost my shit.  This here is one hundred percent pure gold.  This is what I will tattoo on the inside of my skull so that any time I need it I can close my eyes and remember that there is a three year old with a pencil in her hand, face all screwed up in concentration trying to form the letters to express her love for me, her father - and that nothing else is important in the world.  Thanks sweetheart.  


Unrelated Postscript:  As my daughter was being put to bed, she declared:  "You know what I see in my imagination right now?  I see a zombie with an eyeball coming out of his other eyeball."  As if I wasn't feeling like my life was perfect enough.