For my birthday last week, Gabriel made me a nifty full-colour illustrated card that was both sweet and teasing. Inside, there were four quadrants, each one containing a reason why he thought I was the “best” mom:
You’re good at saving money …stop shopping at “VV”
You’re very “smart” (“Is there rice anymore?”)
You’re a handywoman.
You’re my Mom.
Then he drew a floor with a paint can, paint stains, a screwdriver, falling hair(!), and a crumpled Value Village receipt in an Ikea trash can. There was also a spider weaving a web at one corner.
On the opposite page, he listed his favourite Mom’s quotable quotes, including my blunders in the English language that give us a good laugh. Without meaning to, I sometimes say garbled sentences and use wrong grammar or senseless words that Gabriel and his brothers find very amusing. They don’t let me get away with it.
This birthday card is now tucked on my wall beside other handmade greetings my boys have given me this year. To me, they are far nicer than Hallmark cards. Nothing but the “best” for Mom.