While mothers all over the world are busy receiving jewels, flowers, clothes, fancy meals, and so on and so on, I will take a moment to wallow in self-pity and share a picture of my Mother’s Day present with you, above.
No, Gentle Reader, it is not poo, for which I suppose I should be thankful.
So, the Golden Boy came home from school waving a small cardboard pot, in which grew two thin tiny plants, already half-bent from the rigours of life in elementary school. “Your Mom’s day present!” he announced with a proud and unbelievably cute look.
I made the appropriate screaming appreciative noises. We went home. I started messing around in the kitchen. Splashing noises came from the washroom. I thought nothing of it.
Suddenly, the Golden Boy emerged from the washroom, half wet and soiled, with a confused look on his face. “Your Mother’s Day present has gone!”
Struck by a dread foreboding, I followed him back to the washroom, and was confronted by the scene above.
“I was watering it!” he explained.
“Is that how you watered it in school?” I asked, my voice starting to rise despite myself.
Tears spurted in his eyes. “Now you’re angry! We didn’t have a spray bottle! It was your present!” And he rushed to his bedroom and buried his head in the pillows.
I was filled with guilt. Now I had to console his sulks away, to convince him it was ok that a- I didn’t have a Mother’s Day present anymore, and b- The washroom sink would be fine.