So it’s Valentine season again.
Who wants a lovey dovey card?
Who wants a bouquet of red roses?
Who wants a box of chocolates?
Or a nice romantic dinner?
I like receiving cards, but where expressions of love are concerned, somehow the mass-produced sickly-sweet hastily signed card does not cut it. A personal message, from the heart, carries more weight.
I love flowers, roses, white lilies, and above all tiger lilies (as well as the look, it’s the smell, you see). The majority of bouquets on the market at this time of the year have travelled from so far, they probably won’t last the cosy heat of any home for more than two days.
I love chocolate too, not so much milk chocolate, but the really black one, and above all I adore white chocolate. But in moderation, because it’s addictive, and too much hardship attempting to loose those superfluous calories.
As for dinner, I love food, nice food, different food, I love eating out. But a totally filled restaurant where the staff is trying to cope with two rounds of bookings on the same night, just because it is the 14th February, is not my idea of romantic.
This year, my Little Price Charming (his new name as of last night) gave me much more.
He was about to go bed for the night. For once, I was not getting him ready as I usually do when I am there, as I was going off. So I gave him a kiss and asked him if he would like to give me one. He just looked at me. When he was much smaller, he used to smudge my face with a drooling and dribbling wide-open mouth. Then he grew up somewhat and became conscience of his own body, and with that of his personal boundaries. It did not stop him from letting me hug him and kiss him, but kisses from him were off the menu.
So last night I was not expecting anything. Until the Mammy suggested I present my cheek close to his mouth. And there it was, the sweetest, gentlest, most delicate kiss I have received from a little boy in a long time. So much so that I chanced my luck, asked him for another one, turned my head to present the other cheek. . . and there it was again. And again. And again. Eventually, there was no asking or prompting needed, no presenting of the right or the left cheek. Even my nose got softly hit!
I fell under the charm of my Little Prince the first time I saw him, only a few hours old, in the ICU of the Coombe Maternity Hospital, while we were all waiting for the ambulance to take him to the Cardiac Ward in Crumlin. He was perfect. Just simply perfect. And so cute I could not resist him.
Now, 23 months later, every time I see him he uses his cuteness to renew his Love Spell on me.
After such a simple, precious moment, who needs a cheesy card or tired roses? Fattening chocolates or queuing for a table?