Who doesn’t love a good love note?

I have an especially soft spot for the spontaneous-for-no-reason-except-that-i-love-you kind.    The sticky note on the fridge kind.  The left by my sweetheart kind.  The shaky little hearts made by a four year old kind. The kind that highlights the soft spot a self-proclaimed tough girl still has for her mama.  Not because it’s my birthday, or mother’s day, or any other commercially created, Hallmark supported kind of date.  Just because.

One day a few weeks ago, completely by coincidence, my three favorite girls all left me love notes.  Different times of day, different locations. One scrawled in sharpie and left for me to find when I opened the fridge door for soy milk.  Another proudly delivered by sticky fingers straight into my open hands and melting heart.  A third tacked to the white board by my desk, so I could look at it and smile while I worked.

And all of them just to remind me that I am loved.

Do me a favor, will you?  Can you think of anyone who might love a little love note action?  Your partner?  Your son?  Your best friend? Your lawn guy?   Take some time today and write a little love note or two (or ten).   It does not have to be fancy, it does not have to be long, and it certainly does not have to be profound.  Embossed paper and spritz of floral perfume totally not necessary.

Find something to write with (yes, your two year old’s chewed orange crayon will absolutely suffice) and something to write on (a page torn from your journal, your Starbucks receipt, the envelope from your water bill) and do it.  Just do it.

Doodle a heart, a ladybug, a rainbow.  Write “You are the best mother/daughter/son/photographer/lawn guy in the whole wide world” or “I think I maybe- kinda-sorta-might-just-a-little-bit like you” or “damn, those jeans make your butt look soooo fine that I feel a little weak every time you wear them”.

Or you could, just simply and perfectly, say “I love  you” and leave it at that.

But do it.  I can almost guarantee that once you do it once, you’ll want to do it again, and again, and again.  Because who does not like to be the giver of warm fuzzies, the bearer of mushy-gushy goodness, the one to make someone smile?  We all love, and we all want to be loved, and sometimes it just takes a sharpie on a yellow sticky pad to remind us of just how much a little gesture can mean.

So let’s start a little love note revolution, shall we?

PS: Humor me.  Take a picture of your love note(s).  Post them on your blog, on your facebook, on your twitter (include hashtag #lovenote).  Tag me, tweet me, comment me, email me.  I’ll post my favorites here, and the best of the best will get an extra special prize from me (and you’d better believe that prize will include a love note).

PPS: I love you. I totally do. And the embossed paper and floral perfume are  not overkill here.  I chose them just for you.

PPPS: I meant what I said about those jeans.

When my first daughter came along I recorded her life in agonizing detail.  Every breath, every burp, every cry was documented for posterity.   Album after album was filled with snapshots of her eating, bathing, crawling, walking, drooling and sleeping.  Like clockwork we schlepped to the mall every single month to get her portraits taken.  This was pre-doula career, pre-photography business.  Heck – for the first nine months of her life, I didn’t even have a car.  It was just Bella and I most of the time, and I quite imagined that the rest of the world found her as fascinating as I did.

Of course, I promised myself, I’ll do exactly the same for my second baby.  But by then I was working as a doula, running a non-profit, and had been bitten by the photography bug.  I didn’t write too much, I have not printed a single snapshot past the six month mark, and you’d better believe I didn’t take her to the mall for portraits (the horror!).   As far as historical records are concerned, Julie has suffered a fate that has befallen many a subsequent child – complete and utter under representation in all known forms of family memorabilia.

Ah –such fodder for mommy-guilt.

I was the first born, not just in my immediate family, but for both sets of grandparents and great-grandparents.  First of my generation, I accepted all the focus and attention as my due.  I didn’t think too much about how little time my busy mother had to log the delicious and mundane details of my sibling’s existence.  But now that I’m a mother of two,  I’m sure that she did.   Obviously, I cannot make up for almost four years of benign but undeniable neglectful behavior toward my role as family historian, but I can start now.

This is Julianna Amelie Grace.  Julie.  Jules.  Julianna-Bananna. My little Amelie. A girl with the most sparkly chocolate brown eyes, and the fullest lips.  A girl with a mind of her own, and the volume to make her opinion known.  My second daughter, my old soul.  Always my teacher, her lesson surrender, her spirit full of conviction and her heart bursting with love.

I was going to tell you all about her, but then I figured I’d let her do the talking.  So, in the format of my own ‘about’  page on {peace.love.free}.   I gave her the questions and let her fill in the blanks.  (My additions are in italics, the rest are her words)

About:
4 1/2 . Silly. Sweet. Impertinent.  Fun. A force to be reckoned with. Leo.  NOT a morning person. Quintessential girlie-girl.  Cuddler. Kisser. Dancer.   Music in Her Soul, Her Bones,  Her Spirit. Messy. Loud.  Screamer. Whiner. Crier.  Wants to Be Carried. Lover. Back Rubber. Generous.  Alpha.  Make-Believer.  Tightest Hugger. Hair that forms massive dreads about two hours after brushing.

Likes:
Lucy, Frankie, Sadie and Maggie (our dogs), Things in my room. Princess things. Mama’s High Heels.  Barbies.  Going on a Bear Hunt. The Treat Table at Fresh-n- Easy.  Caesar Salad and Carrot Cake at Paradise Bakery. My Soft Princess Blanket. Dress Up. Playing House.  Cherry Tomatoes. Rice. Lemon Cake. Chai Tea with Honey. Dresses and Skirts and Sparkly Shoes. Pink, Red and Purple.  Dora and Sponge Bob.

Then she said “Actually, I love everything in the world, and I’m going to steal it all!” followed by peals of maniacal laughter.

Dislike:
Boy stuff. Cooked Tomatoes. Sticky Stuff on my Hands*. Green.  Jeans and Leggings. Tennis Shoes. Boy TV. Spiderman. Tracing Letters at School.

*She can’t eat without a wet cloth napkin, and she wipes her hands after every bite.

Good At:
Tracing Letters. Making Art for Mommy. Painting with Mary. Makeup.  Writing My Name. Helping Mommy and Mary Do Laundry.  Helping Mommy Bake.  Eating All My Food.

Not so good at:
Cleaning My Room. Putting On Socks.

Dream Of:
Being a Mommy. Growing Up. Doing work.  Pushing Buttons on the Computer. Being a Princess.  Having lots of Money in My Flower Bank.

Wish I could:
Fly a Unicorn. Turn things into pretty.  Make everything beautiful.  Have a rule where you can eat whatever you want.

Sweet girl – you turn things into pretty wherever you go.  I love you.