This is more your kind of place. Popsicle sticks. Glitter. Pipe cleaners. Glue sticks. Paint. All kinds of sticky and/or shiny junk! But your mom is well accustomed to such mundane offerings, ever since you could first fold your fat fingers around a crayon. You have to find something special. You skim the aisles with an expert eye.
Nothing here is easy. All of it will require more work to end up with a finished product. And you are getting short on time.
You pass a box of plaster of paris, remembering your mother’s frustrated attempts to do hand prints when all she could produce were cement bricks. Good times. You pass ceramic figurines, snowy white with possibilities. But you know your limits. You’re not quite there yet. You slow as you pass a pack of sharpies. So tempting… But no. You know how your mother feels about you touching sharpies. And she’d know. Somehow, she always knew.
And then you pause. It is a picture frame kit. And it comes with all the supplies you’d need. And the kid on the box doesn’t look any older than you. And it’s 5.49. You lift the box carefully. Could this be it? Your own gift of the magi?