A
tussle at our house today over picking up scraps of shredded cardboard put me
in mind of my mother and what she would or wouldn’t put up with. Granted, she
didn’t have an autistic child, but she did put up with a lot from all five of
us children. And she always had us clean up our mess. You didn’t say no to that
woman at all.
Stubborn
is….
My
mother used to say, “Stubborn is as stubborn does”
And
then she’d add, “Do it, just because”
The
because came with her authority
When
it comes to mothers, they are in the majority
No
matter how many children protest
Mommy
Dearest, always knows best
That
is until I had my own child
I
thought he’d be plenty mild
I
dreamed of an obedient baby
Who
wouldn’t even say maybe
He
would snap to
Nothing
he wouldn’t do
For
me or my whims
Erasing
all my sins
Because
he’d be pure forgiveness
And
never ever piss on my plans
This
is a dream baby
A
mother-to-be fantasy
But
my boy is a mixture
Of
both pure love and guile
He
has a great style
To
wind his way around my heart
Even
when he doesn’t take my part
I
love those blue pleading eyes
And
hearing those long suffering sighs
He
wriggles past what he could do
To
find a way to throw in a complaint or two
Or
seemingly five thousand of them
Alright,
maybe only a dozen
But
he spends his energy spinning those wheels
Kicking,
pinching, punching, and making squeals
That
I long for when he was a true baby
I
could hold and sooth the incomprehensible cries
Now
I sigh deep, turning my head to the skies
Searching
for an answer of “can do?” or “won’t do?”
Dying
a little with each declaration that he spews
Towards
me and my Beloved
We
wonder where this comes from
And
we dig in stubborn too
To help search for his "he doesn't have a clue where it is"
always missing shoe
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