Adella had proudly given me the heart on Valentine’s Day. And that Valentine took up residence on my refrigerator for the month of February and most of March.
“Do you think she’ll notice?” I asked my husband as I scratched and pulled in order to peel the tape holding the heart from my refrigerator door. (Clearly I had not anticipated grandchildren and the need for a refrigerator magnet art gallery when I had purchased the refrigerator with the sleek stainless steel, unmagnetized door a few years back.)
“Not sure,” Pop Pop said. “Nothing gets past her,” he added.
True, I thought. So I hedged my my bets. I did not want any grandchild of mine to think I had rejected her work. So I stashed Mr. Valentine (or is it a Ms?) in a box in my mudroom. If the Valentine’s eviction from prime refrigerator door space went unnoticed, then I had hoped to quietly slip him or her into the trash a week or two later.
And she had not noticed. Until today. If only I had stuck to the original plan. If only I had not forgotten to dispose of it. I should have known leaving the little red stool in my mud room so that I could reach the highest shelves would only encourage her snooping.
There was no blame nor shame. No “Hey, Granma, what’s this doing here?” Adella simply took matters into her own hands.
She rummaged through my junk drawer and found the tape. Using the little red stool, she restored that Valentine to its proper place. And for good measure, she drew four more pictures and enlisted her brother Marshall to draw one as well. Then she taped them up all up on my refrigerator. A stunning gallery of preschool art.
So now the time clock on my refrigerator gallery is reset and I must consider when I can once more polish my sleek stainless refrigerator door.
What is the statute of limitations on a Valentine, I wonder. Especially one that has already been recycled once. One that carries the taint of having been discovered hidden away. Perhaps I should view it as a boon: Art so easily hides tiny fingerprints.
I ponder for a few days. Perhaps Thanksgiving, I think. And then I realize the relatives are coming. Practicality defenestrates my guilt. Grandma Kemp and Grandpa Kemp, Uncle Ethan, Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Sarah, ( my daughter’s in-laws) and cousins Katherine, Rebecca, Jonathan and Nathan, all will descend upon my house to celebrate the naming and blessing of baby Max, Adella’s infant brother. The refrigerator door must be polished sleek and clean.
This time I slide the art directly into the trash. Underneath a cereal box and three pieces of junk mail, lest the eagle-eyed Adella discover my subterfuge. Then, for good measure, I empty the trash, watching sadly as the wee heart-shaped hand of Mr. (or Ms.) Valentine reaches out above an envelope, frailly, almost desperately waving, as I cinch the trash bag closed.
At least I took a picture. Should Adella ask.
