In case you’re wondering, I didn’t get it back out of the trash. Apparently, I have no soul.
Every day, Bug brings home some cute art project from his class – a bird with tissue paper wings, a tree made from a tracing of his hand, a sponge painting, etc. This is really the first year that he has been old enough to have actually created some of this art, as opposed to some teacher gluing dried macaroni on a piece of paper and trying to pass it off as his amazing masterpiece. When he couldn’t even hold a fork. Or sit up. I mean, really. I just really don’t need a sorry ass flower made with glitter and crumpled up newspaper made by a preschool teacher.
Since I am a teacher at his school, Bug is allowed to attend all 5 days of the week, which no other 2 year olds are allowed to do. So he’s essentially in two different classes – a 2 day class and a 3 day class.
So we get every glue-laden, paint-spattered, scribble covered piece of art twice.
It’s not the teachers’ fault – art is one of the activities for the day, and they don’t want to leave him out, nor do they want to come up with a different project for him since he’s already painted a turkey with a plastic fork or whatever.
So here is my confession: I throw one of the two art projects in the trash.
It’s really not a big deal, and I know that, but I do the deed like I’m a secret undercover spy – putting it in the can in the dead of night and covering it with old banana peels and coffee grounds.
Except for two days ago, when I lost any chance of ever winning Mother of the Year.
Bug goes to throw away his juice box and there atop our garbage lays the turkey he made and painted that day in class.
The look on his face, Internet. I could just cry.
“Why my chicken in the trash, Mommy?” (It was definitely a turkey, but whatever.)
“Oh, buddy, well, um, you know, you made such a nice one yesterday that we hung it on your bulletin board, and there just wasn’t enough room for two turkeys. But I really loved both of them. A lot. A whole lot.”
“Otay, Mommy.” he said sadly, and with one last wistful look at his creation he closed the lid on the trash and walked slowly out of the kitchen.
Daggers. In my heart. I am a Bad Mommy. A BAD MOMMY!
7 comments
Elliot cried when he read that story. Well, it could have been because a small piece of the potato I’ve been trying to eat for lunch for the last *three-and-a-half hours* fell on his head when I was trying to maneuver around so that I could leave a comment and nurse at the same time. But I prefer to think it was an instance of cousinly sympathy. (probably all too soon to be upgraded to empathy)
Anyway, I just want to point out the Bug’s confusion with turkeys is apparently a heritable trait. (I just spent a horrendous amount of time looking through my computer files for the picture of that ridiculous turkey-shaped rice from last Thanksgiving, to no avail. I know I’ve seen it lately though . . . )
Kecia-
Voila.
You’re welcome.
why does the turkey rice say do not eat?
and yes, you are heartless. ive known it all along.
It’s time to let you know – we actually have a bad mommy club.
Welcome to the club!
just to fill alianora in: the turkey shaped rice dish was inedible because it was put together with glue. This nonsense is one of Lorso’s family’s weirdnesses… sort of a long crazy story… boil it down to: don’t eat the stuff. BTW I looked up your blog and now feel like I really know you, the brandus and the Lord V. What are you doing in Alaska?
To: racher
Re: No Soul
I KNEW IT!
Best regards,
Bean
To: Bean
Re:Re: No Soul
I have to give you props for being the first to recognize that truth.
Sincerely,
racher
P.S. Also, your comment made me laugh out loud.
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