One of the 5,687 Reasons Why I’m A Terrible Mother

I was deep cleaning the kitchen the other day. You know – the move the appliances and the knife rack off the counter and scrub the grout with a toothbrush kind of cleaning, instead of my daily wipe the bread crumbs off with a sponge type of cleaning. It’s amazing the amount of clutter that accumulates on the counter – things I don’t even “see” on a daily basis. The sea salt I cook with that I rarely bother to put back into the cupboard. Ditto for the honey used on peanut butter sandwiches. And for the box of dandelion tea. Behind the toaster I found a napkin holder that Chandler made for me when he was in elementary school. I don’t know if it was a class project or something from Indian Guides, but can I be honest? It’s ugly. I suppose it does have a bit of a Mondrian quality to it. (You know, if Mondrian were sloppy. And didn’t use yellow.)

Proudly displayed on my kitchen table for years.

I used to proudly display it on our kitchen table, as good mothers of bad artists do, but we use cloth napkins now, so not only is it ugly, it’s useless. I can’t quite bring myself to throw it away, so I do what any bad mother would do – I chuck it into the back of the high pantry cupboard never to be found again. At least until the next deep cleaning. Chandler is 16 now. I’m 100% positive that if someone else made it he’d find it not only ugly, but offensive. I know that even though it sat on our kitchen table for years he’s forgotten all about it. And he’s certainly smart enough to know that we have no practical use for it. But I also know that if he found out I threw it away he’d never forgive me. So to the back of the pantry it goes. At least until I tackle that with a deep cleaning.