I’m sitting in my office checking my email at my computer. My 14 year old son walks through the back door and into my office holding a birdhouse.
Son: Happy Mother’s Day! I made this for you in Tech Class.
Me: Thank you! You did a great job. What’s this inside?
Son: It’s a card. I made that, too.
Me: That’s great. Mother’s Day is Sunday. Were you going to paint the birdhouse for me?
Son: No. Why would I do that?
Me: Yeah. What was I thinking? Well, thanks!
It’s that kind of unabashed honesty that makes the poem he wrote for me inside the card all the more special, because I know he meant every word. I won’t be sharing that gift, though. Some things are meant to be shared by only the giver and the recipient.
But I will share the birdhouse:
Hope you all have a wonderful weekend. Especially all you mothers out there.« « Previous Post: Leftovers: Wherein I share my secret shame | Next Post: Putting off pruning » »