About 3 months ago, Edith and I went to pick up Donnie from the aftercare program and there it was. This neon orange ceramic “bowl” with black and grey spots. I showed the requisite excitement for Donnie’s creation, complimenting him on his choice of color and craftiness. I nostalgically recalled to myself a ceramic creation I made when I was a kid, and once more told him how impressed I was with his artistic skills.
Not more than five minutes after returning home, however, Edith couldn’t keep her sticky hands off this new, and therefore extremely desirable, item. She immediately chipped a small piece off the side, revealing the white ceramic, and leaving Donnie devastated. His masterpiece was ruined.
To alleviate the crisis, I mentioned that we could super glue the piece back on. I then became distracted by a dozen and one other tasks that took precedence over the majestic ceramic “bowl” brought home by my one and only son.
About two weeks later, the ceramic “bowl”, now pushed to the back of the kitchen counter, caught Donnie’s eye and he asked why we hadn’t fixed it yet with the super glue. I hadn’t forgotten the “bowl”. Who could miss it, all bright orange and spotted? But fixing it really wasn’t a priority. I apologized for the delay but once again he and I were distracted with everyday activities and the “bowl” was left for another day.
A good three weeks later, that orange “bowl” was still sitting on my kitchen counter. I made the mom executive decision that enough was enough and tossed it. I know what you’re thinking, but don’t get me wrong! I keep things… I’ve kept a lot of his art. I’ve also kept his first lost tooth, certain clothes that I just can’t bare to give away, and his first pair of shoes. But I don’t keep everything.
Sometime after we bought our house my parents dropped off some boxes of my old stuff, as did my mother-in-law with my husband’s stuff. Over the years, they were able to winnow down our entire lives into three boxes each. Boxes that included old school papers, drawings, medals, toys, etc. Three boxes each. To me, Donnie’s ceramic “bowl” didn’t make the three box cut.
Two weeks after discarding the orange ceramic “bowl”, however, Donnie came home from school telling me he needed his pinch pot for the school’s art show. ‘What the hell is a pinch pot,’ I thought. “What are you talking about, Don?” I asked. “My pinch pot… the orange one with black and grey dots,” he said. ‘ Oh Shit,’ I thought. ” I told him I’d have to look around for it.
That night, my fears were confirmed when Donnie’s teacher emailed the class to let us know that we could send in the kid’s pinch pots the following day for the art show. Don’t even get my started on her timing. A little heads up would have been nice, or, I don’t know… a notice sent home with the damn pinch pot that we’d be needing it later on during the year. But alas, here I was. Night before the art show and I threw out my kid’s pinch pot.
Good god. I debated giving him something else to bring in, but knowing my son as well as I do, there is no way he’d go for that. Being different or unique is not really his thing. He’s a fit in with the crowd kind of kid. Plus, if I brought up bringing in some other artistic creation, he’d be all consumed with the loss of the pinch pot.
I quickly went in to bring my husband up to speed. He vaguely recalled the orange “bowl” and validated my annoyance over both the term ‘pinch pot’ and the relatively insignificant way this significant piece of art work was sent home. On a whole, he found the entire epoch saga hilarious and reluctantly agreed to play dumb if my son were to ask him about the disappearing pinch pot the following morning. My husband much preferred stirring the pot, no pun intended, but recognized that our son is only five, and the humor in this situation would have been completely lost on him.
The next morning we remained quiet about school and the art show. I was hoping I could wait out my son and was betting on him forgetting that he needed to bring the pinch pot in to school. Score another one for the horrible mom over here! As planned, he forgot and off to school he went, no pinch pot in hand.
There is no good end to this story, only a simple lesson learned. Keep all art until at least the end of the school year. Oh, and one more thing…”a pinch pot is a simple form of hand-made pottery produced from ancient times to the present,” courtesy of Wikipedia.