At 22 months, this was the first year Lucy could actually make me a gift for mother's day.  Her class painted flower pots, and hers was smeared with purple and green, which is coincidentally one of my favorite color combinations.  She and I stopped at the "flower store" (our favorite little nursery) on the way home and picked out a hot pink dahlia to plant in it.  Today, about 90 seconds after planting and admiring it, I dropped it on the concrete sidewalk and broke that adorable little pot into several pieces.  At which point I also fell to pieces.  DH promised that he would glue it together for me, but I'm doubtful.  

I'm fighting the "what a crappy mother I am" feelings, mostly successfully.  The "what a clumsy ass mother I am" feelings are still lingering...  So much for the "I'll have this pot when I'm 90" sentimentality I had been harboring.