My Favourite Cup

The handle broke off of my favourite mug a couple of weeks ago.  It was a tall, lidded, blue ceramic cup with flowers on it that I had received in a gift basket from my husband’s colleagues when Mark was born.  I have used this mug every day since then, and now it is broken.  This feels like a metaphor for something but it isn’t.  It’s just a mug.

It is sad how attached I am to this mug, and it’s also sad that I went through several folders of digital pictures to see if my mug would be pictured in the background somewhere.  Since this mug was part of my everyday life and a large contributor to my caffeine habit, one would think that there would be photographic evidence of it but no.  I spent some minutes going through old pictures, becoming increasingly nostalgic as I looked at my children’s baby pictures.  My children, who have – not including today, when Jake is possibly being trampled by rampaging peacocks and escaped wild animals on his zoo trip as I write this – only two days of school left. 

I’m not at all melancholy about Mark leaving Grade One, but Jake leaving kindergarten?  I’m very mixed.  On the one hand, he’s such a big kid now, no more half days and missing his brother all afternoon, no more freezing to death in the playground where we while away the twenty five minutes between Jake’s and Mark’s lunchtime dismissals.  On the other hand, no more Mother’s Day spa treatments, no more performances of Robin in the Rain complete with air trumpets, no more adorable kindergarten program. 

But!  We cannot get caught up in it.  We must soldier on, bravely watching our kids get bigger and bigger and enjoying it.  Speaking of enjoying the changes, my husband thought that it would be a nice idea to get each boy a small gift for end of year celebrations, and for Jake, that meant fulfilling a several-months-long dream of obtaining a Lego NinjaGo Turbo Shredder.  He ordered it online and Jake waited and waited and WAITED and looked out the front door several times a day and FINALLY it arrived. 

I did not think, quite frankly, that Jake would survive the rest of the day if we waited for his father to get home to build it.  I thought he might spin off the planet.  So I took a deep breath and went outside my comfort zone and decided to build it myself.

People.  I am not exaggerating, not even a little, when I say that there were moments that I looked at the gigantic pile of Lego pieces in front of me and the thick instruction manuals on the floor and I thought of lying on the floor and saying “Bring Mom that wine bottle over there.”  But I did not.  I did not.  Two hundred and ninety eight pieces, two instruction manuals, and ninety minutes of intense focus and concentration and we now have a Turbo Shredder.  I listened to my seventies’ radio station and hummed and sang along, trying to maintain a calm exterior.  You’re having my baby!  Where the fuck am I supposed to put this brick?  What a lovely way to say how much you love me. Is this supposed to be on the third or fourth hole?  You’re having my baby!   Dammit, that was supposed to be a black piece, not a grey one.

But!  There was one missing piece, which turned out to be a crucial piece because the Turbo Shredder is missing one of its tires.  I looked and looked and swept under the couch and moved furniture and we still have one missing piece.  Did you know that you can contact Lego and have them send you any missing pieces?  YOU CAN.

After finishing this project, I felt as though I deserved much more accolades and perhaps even a parade in my honour but somehow that did not happen.

When my mug broke, I received two offers of redemption from my children.  Jake said that if I drove him to the store, he would use his allowance to buy me a new mug.  Mark said that he would register himself in a clay class and sculpt me one.  I hugged them for both of those suggestions and then dug through my cupboards to find an old, unused travel mug.  I went to take a shower and then I came back to see that Jake had taken a Sharpie to it.

“I Love You” he had written in his shaky, kindergarten printing.  That’s better than a parade, I think.

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  1. Oh my goodness, that is so sweet I’m tearing up a little. Great post. <3

  2. In fact, it kicks the parade’s ass from here to Boston and back.

  3. Your boys are so sweet. Sorry your favorite mug broke. Never knew Lego would replace parts like that but it’s awesome that they do.

  4. Now that mug is a keeper…I mean kid

  5. So sorry about your mug. I have three mugs I rotate through. I know they are just mugs but they tie me to stuff. They are routine and familar and make me happy. What a sweet boys you have.

  6. That mug is definitely a keeper! How cute was that?!

  7. Awww, little boys are so awesome, aren’t they? What sweeties.

    Also, with the mega Lego kits? Yeah, I feel you, honey. Santa brought Isaac the one thing he wanted more than life itself last year, which was a Star Wars Lego kit intended for builders aged 8 – 14. Something like a squillion pieces and THREE instruction books. Three solid hours later, he had a spaceship bigger than he was. It’s ridiculous, the sense of accomplishment I felt. 🙂

  8. The awesome in awesome sauce.

  9. Legos are evil. I would have needed the wine.

  10. I have great sympathy for you and your cup – it’s always the little things that I am most attached to. I have a similar favourite mug for tea and the handle broke off a few years ago (while FULL OF HOT TEA, good times) but luckily for me, I have four others just like it so I took the next one out of the closet to become my new cherished mug. Kind of like when you buy a backup Special Friend for your kid.

    Aaaaaand, don’t know why I feel like you needed the full details on that story. It’s times like this when my husband turns to me and says, “Did you talk to any adults today, honey?”

    Also, we have the same Lego set, and I built that mofo, and it’s totally going on my resume. Be proud!

  11. Kerrie @ Family Food and Travel says

    What a fantastic story! Mugs are so wonderful and connect us to the many hot beverages that comfort us.
    Love the story of your son and the Sharpie. Beautiful!


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