Leigh Sales writes to her sons: "I hope that you grow up to be kind-hearted men."

To my dear boys,

When you were born, Daniel, I had very good intentions to regularly write you a letter. I planned to present you with a collection on your 21^st birthday so that you would be able to read all about what you were like at every age.

I made a solid start, writing to you at eight weeks, 12 weeks, six months, one year, 18 months, two years; pages of gushy mush about how beautiful and clever and funny you are.

Then when you were born, James, I decided to do the same thing for you.  I’m ashamed to say that for your 21^st, you’ll be receiving one, hastily-composed letter, angrily pecked out when you were 15 months old, cursorily noting that you’re very cute but mostly complaining about my share of the housework.

Having two children has felt like more than one plus one. So I’m sorry to say that amidst the endless washing and cooking and crow-barring of dried Weetbix from all household surfaces, my dream of writing you years of letters has already melted away, much like my formerly neat, pre-childbirth figure.

When this offer came to write a love letter to somebody or something, I thought, ‘Well here’s an opportunity.’  I looked into the future, to a time when you are middle-aged men.

Your dear mum has died (after an entirely painless illness for which the treatment was eating oysters and drinking champagne) and you are going through her books.  She didn’t have that many hard copies of things in the end, just the old favourites.

Sadly though, she has eaten terribly into your inheritance by furiously stockpiling ebooks on her kindle, amassing them in the same frenzy you last saw in 2055, when Chelsea Clinton was elected President and the alt-right bought up all the tinned food and guns.

You find this book on one of mum’s shelves, its pages yellowed and rustling like dried leaves.

“Hey James!” Daniel says.  “Mum’s name is in the table of contents of this one.”

“Let me see,” James says.  “So it is!  And look who’s right before her – Australia’s former Prime Minister Cameron Daddo!”

“And the Opposition Leader, Layne Beachley,” Daniel excitedly exclaims.

“The book has lots of dog-eared pages and wine glass stains on the cover,” James notes.

“Mum must have lent it to her friend, Annabel Crabb,” Daniel replies.

You flick through the pages and come to this letter.  Eagerly reading it, you get to this point and you start thinking …. um, where’s the love letter part?

Well my boys: I love that you make me laugh. James, I love the way you say “spretzels” no matter how many times we correct you and how, when I say “Do you love mummy?”, you always slyly grin and reply, “I love daddy!”.

Daniel, I love that last night you made me write a note to a pirate and put it in a bottle that you could throw out to sea and in the note, you said that treasure chests sometimes contain lego and gold coins and “containers of Benefiber”. How ever did you know that a pirate’s greatest desire is relief from constipation?

James, I love that you feel like a little silky beanbag when you cuddle in bed and I love that as you snuggle down, you close your eyes and grin furiously and meow like a cat.

Daniel, I love that when we approach a tunnel, you say, “3-2-1” and then shout, “ARRRRGHHHHHHHH” for the whole time we are inside it and then dissolve into fits of hysterical laughter.

James, I love that you always shout “NUDEY RUN” after your shower and then sprint around the house so I cannot catch you. Daniel, I love that you think ‘Make ‘em Laugh’ is the best number in ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ because I do too.

Most of all, I love that you are MY boys. You are sweet and funny and I hope that you grow up to be kind-hearted men. Maybe you won’t have any letters from me in the future but if you should happen upon this silly note in this book one day, I hope it warms your heart and makes you remember that nobody will ever love you as much as your mum.

Also, please don’t throw out “Anne of Green Gables”, even though neither of you wretches will ever want to read it.

Lots of love from mum xx

This letter by Leigh Sales is extracted from Letters of Love: Words from the heart penned by prominent Australians, available now and published by Affirm Press in partnership with the Alannah & Madeline Foundation. All profits from book sales go directly to the Alannah & Madeline Foundation.