January 30, 2010
Dear Hunter,
It's early on a Saturday evening. The apartment is quiet, save for some trashy reality TV show making noise in the background. You father is sleeping in the bedroom and you are not here. Earlier today we took you to visit your grandparents. You are going to be spending the night with them while your father and I go out tonight.
I have a gig. I'm going to be spinning some tunes at this event/fundraiser for the Winnipeg Ska and Reggae Festival called "The Ladies of the Winnipeg Ska and Reggae Festival" - original, huh? Trust me, the name was not my idea. I'll be DJ'ing along with three other ladies tonight, and for once I'm actually happy to be going first. I usually hate being stuck with the opening slot but ska and reggae, surprisingly, is not my favorite nor my strength. I enjoy the music, I play some of it on my radio show and I have been on the ska and reggae festival's organizing committee since day one but I really don't know how comfortable I feel with spinning a whole set of the stuff. It will be interesting.
We miss you. Your dad and I got home, had some food and while sitting on the sofa watching TV, we both noticed how quiet it was.
"I miss Hunter." I said. Your dad said he did too. I started to wonder what you were doing with your grandparents and figured that they were probably sitting you down at the table, helping you feed yourself some dinner. Your at that age now where you constantly want to feed yourself, but you lack the corodination to do it efficiently and without a huge mess. I know the only way you will learn is to do it so I deal with the mess you make of yourself. Besides, I packed soap and towels for you so grandma will probably give you a bath before bed.
On my desk, next to me is a picture you drew at day care this week. Well, more like a piece of paper that you scribbled all over with markers. Child, you have changed me so much. I used to look at these horrible 'pictures' people had on their refrigerators or hanging in their cubicals at work and wonder why on earth someone would not only save, but cherish something so, well, worthless? Its not what the picture is, I suppose. You made this, you created it and found joy in the process and as your mother, I am so proud of you and of this scrap of paper. I want to hang it up somewhere, but I first have to remember to date the back of it.
Hunter, age 13 months. January 2010.
Done. Next step will be to tack it up on the refrigerator.
I'm excited about picking you up tomorrow afternoon. I do feel guilty about leaving you with your grandparents overnight but this way your father and I can both go out and have a good time. We don't really get to do that very much. I know you'll understand. We will be back to see you around noon tomorrow, and we'll have lunch together with grandma and grandpa.
It's cold. I'm wearing a t-shirt and wish I had a sweater. I should be getting myself ready for tonight, but really, I'm feeling lazy and most of the work has been completed anyway. I keep thinking of you, so that is why I'm writing this.
I love you, Hunter.
I suppose it goes without saying, but I want to scream it from the roof tops. Seeing the world through your eyes is incredible. I mean, I never found sneezing funny until you came around. Now I find myself making these rediculious fake sneeze in the hope that you'll laugh, just a little, at it. You have given me new eyes to see the world and they are incredible.
I should get a move on. I need to pluck my eyebrowns and its hard to do when your home. Also want to iron some clothes. Again, hard to do when you are home.
I want to kiss you good night, so at eight PM, when you will be laid down to sleep, I am going to close my eyes and imagine me, kissing you.
Night, my sweet son.
See you tomorrow,
Love,
Mom
