One sunny afternoon, my daughter came running up to me with a look of urgency on her face, her little backpack bouncing against her shoulders. She tugged on my sleeve and asked, “Mom, do you happen to have a baby picture of yourself? I really need it for a school project.” I blinked, surprised by the sudden request, but didn’t stop to ask too many questions. “Sure, honey,” I said, rifling through an old drawer, “I think I have a few. Here, take this one.” I handed her a slightly faded photo of me as a chubby-cheeked toddler with a tuft of hair sticking straight up, not even thinking to ask what the project was actually about.
A few days passed, and the routine of life carried on. Between work emails, groceries, and laundry, I had almost forgotten about the photo entirely. Then came the parent-teacher meeting. I entered the classroom, expecting the usual chatter, colorful posters of the alphabet, and rows of tiny chairs. As I stepped further inside, something caught my eye. At the far end of the room, there was a huge, bright, carefully crafted mural pinned to the bulletin board. I leaned in closer—and froze. Right there in the middle of it, surrounded by drawings of crayon-colored houses, cats, and trees, was my baby picture.
Above it was a bold, proud title: “The oldest thing in my house.”
I stared at it for a moment, my mouth half open, my brain trying to process the absurdity. My daughter was beaming beside me, clearly proud of her work. The teacher glanced over with a small smile, clearly amused. I tried not to laugh out loud, but it was impossible. Here I was, an adult human being with a mortgage and bills, forever immortalized in kindergarten history as the oldest thing in the house.
We all had a good laugh. I took a step back, pretending to be annoyed, but deep down I knew this would be a story we’d laugh about for years. The innocence of childhood meets the brutal honesty of school projects in the most hilarious way possible. Who knew that my baby cheeks would one day be labeled “ancient artifact”?
LOL!!