For mother’s day, William gave me a homemade card (my favorite kind). Inside it read
Not very harmful
I laughed a little. Because honestly, that is a little funny. And I told him I LOVED it, because I really really loved it.
And then I waited for him to give me the card that he made at school. I accidentally saw it in his school bag, and I didn’t want to ruin it for him, so I pretended I didn’t see it.
I waited for it.
And I waited.
And I finally asked for it today.
I threw it away.
“Why?!” I asked.
And then he started to walk away.
And get mad.
And then big, round tears fell fast and heavy down his soft cheeks.
He threw it away because I laughed at the first poem.
I tried to explain how much I loved his poem.
And I don’t know if I have ever felt like a crappier mother.
Because whether or not I meant to, I hurt my little boy.
As I tucked him in tonight, I told him again how very very much I loved that card. And he said he was sorry.
And we are all better.
At least on the outside.
But on the inside, I am not really all better.
I am a little tiny bit crushed.