I remember my very first Mother’s Day as a brand-new teacher. I was working at a school in a lower-income area, full of sweet and spirited students. I can still picture myself eagerly prepping for what I thought would be a heartwarming, crafty celebration. I planned a super-cute project—complete with glue, glitter, and a beautiful card titled something like “Why I Love My Mom.”
I waltzed into the classroom the week before Mother’s Day, beaming with excitement, ready to guide my students through what I was sure would be a meaningful activity. I gathered the kids on the carpet and introduced the project with enthusiasm, expecting them to be just as thrilled as I was.
But what I got wasn’t excitement. It was confusion. A few hands shot up, and then came the questions and quiet comments:
“What about my stepmom? Can I make something for her instead?”
“I only have a foster mom. What do I do?”
“I live with my auntie.”
“I don’t have a mom… she died last year.”
That moment stopped me in my tracks. It was sobering, to say the least.
What I had envisioned as a joyful celebration quickly turned into one of the most uncomfortable teaching moments of my career. In my rush to plan something “cute and fun,” I had completely overlooked how emotionally complex Mother’s Day can be for many children. I hadn’t paused to think about the wide range of family situations my students were experiencing—many of them far more complicated than I had considered.
Needless to say, the activity didn’t go as planned. I look back on it now as one of those teaching “flops” that sticks with you—not because it was a failure, but because it was a lesson. A real one. For me.
That experience became a turning point. I let it be a teachable moment for myself. I learned that meaningful classroom celebrations need to be inclusive and sensitive, especially when it comes to days like Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. I started asking more questions, being more thoughtful, and ensuring that every child could see themselves and their family honored in some way.
This year, we’re doing Mother’s Day flipbooks that are much more inclusive. And yes—dads will be getting their very own versions come June!
The activity still includes drawing a picture of Mom, filling in fun sentence starters about her favorite things, brainstorming adjectives to describe her, and writing a short and heartfelt letter. Fingers crossed that what we end up with is sweet, quirky, and full of those little gems that only kids can come up with.
But here’s the biggest change: I’ve created three versions of the flipbook. One is for moms, another is for stepmoms, and a third is intentionally designed to work for any special person in a child’s life. That could be an aunt, a grandma, a foster mom, a neighbor, or even a mentor.
Because while not every child has a traditional “mom,” every child deserves the chance to express gratitude and connection to the people who love and care for them.
So now, instead of planning blindly, I approach Mother’s Day (and Father’s Day) with a different mindset: one that’s flexible, compassionate, and inclusive.
How do you handle days like these in your own classroom? Do you have activities or traditions that help honor different kinds of families? I’d love to hear what you do to make your space welcoming for every child—especially on days that can bring up big feelings.
Let’s keep learning from one another.
Want to use these inclusive Mother’s Day flipbooks in your own classroom? You can download all three versions—for moms, stepmoms, and any special person—for free! Just click below to grab your copy and help every child feel seen and celebrated.
