My son heard talk of Mother’s Day.
Which was when he interpreted that I was having another birthday.
And at which time he acquired the last working dispenser of scotch tape and a single sheet of black construction paper. And…started wrapping. Something, that is.
For eight or nine minutes.
With the tape carcus on the table behind him, he held out his labor of love. “Happy Mudder’s Day Birthday!” he beamed.
And I opened what I’d always wanted:
A shiny penny.