We just celebrated Mother’s Day at Christopher’s Pre School. It was a cute little event, all the moms came to the school and we sang songs, did crafts, read stories. We ate muffins and chatted with classmates and their Mamas.
Right after story time, Christopher’s teacher told us she was going to read things our kiddos had written about us. These were things that our children thought we were great at, things they loved about us.
Obviously my mind immediately went to, “Please don’t let him say that his Mama drinks wine really good. Please don’t let him say that his Mama drinks wine really good.”
One by one, his teacher read off “My Mom does fun crafts” or “My Mom cooks great meals” or “My mom runs really fast” to the group. The more she read, the more I nervous I became. “Crap, I don’t cook. And when was the last time we did a craft?! The last place I ran to was a counter that held a bottle of Moscato, I’m in trouble…”
My heart stopped as his teacher made eye contact with me. He was one of the last students to have his paper read, so I had been sitting scared for a minute.
“MY Mommy is beautiful. I love my Mommy. I love when she plays Candy Land with me.”
My whole body melted. Beautiful? He actually noticed the hours of Candy Land game time we’ve put in (just like my Great Grandmother did with me?) He even colored me in a yellow dress – my favorite color.
I glanced around the room, none of the other Mamas were teary eyed after hearing their kids words. I was the only fool with a knot in her throat and a LOT of tears in her eyes.
Kids. Just as you accept your fate of public shame they manage bring you to happy, sweet, proud tears.
I wasn’t given a copy of his note he wrote about me, but I got a couple pictures of the day: