The super-secret gift making has been in full swing at Cubby's preschool this month.
Except, since we're dealing with three- and four-year-olds here, the secret part goes by the wayside pretty quick. So every day when I asked Cubby what they did at school that morning, I would hear he made a necklace for me. Or a bracelet for me. Or whatever.
Yesterday was the last day of preschool before the holiday break, and we were all presented with a large box full of crafts created by our very own precious babies.
When I asked my own precious baby who all of these things were for, he informed me, "Those are for me, myself."
Right. I think you missed the point there, Cubby.
After we got home and he started pulling all the stuff out to display it to us, I suggested maybe it would be nice if that splendidly decorated soup can went with Daddy to his office, so he could put it on his desk to hold his pens and pencils and think of Cubby all day while he was working. Cubby said, "No. That's mine. It came to MY house, and it is MINE."
So much for the generous spirit of Christmas giving.
P.S. Cubby's teacher made ornaments for all the families with a photo of that family's kid on them. I cannot tell you how much I love her for this. My own parents' Christmas tree is adorned with no less than three photo ornaments of me from various preschools and kindergartens that I attended, so it's like a (narcissistic) family tradition.