A Mother's Day Confession

There are so many better reasons to cry than this, but here I am. Typing through tears because the Mother's Day crafts that came home with Kate were once again, coloured inside the lines, cut out perfectly and with perfect lettering detailing how much she loves me. 

In other words, she didn't make them. 

Her lovely and kind support workers make sure she is never left out and always work hand over hand with Kate to create those things that every mother wants to place inside a memory box of treasures.

Want to know a shameful secret? I don't put them in the memory box. I let Kate hand them to me bursting with pride and I go on and on like she's painted me a self portrait and then they sit on the counter until I throw them in the garbage with a mixture of sadness and frustration. 

Is that awful? I guess I don't want to save a reminder of Kate's deficits. I don't feel sentimental about the colouring and printing skills of Kate's support workers. The perfectly formed crafts and cards are stealing, from me, the right to smile at strangely formed letters of misspelled words and the disorganized colouring of a four year old.

Does this sound like a criticism? It is not meant to be. I know there is no other option when it comes time to sit for arts and crafts or any fine motor activity for that matter. I am just feeling selfish this Mother's Day and I thought I might share that with you.

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