Today, though, I don't mind.
My son is making me a card for Mother's Day and I don't care about that mess. Other messes demand more attention, care, and love.
You see, we've had a tough week together. Every conversation was tense and strained, each outing turned into an argument, and every action got slapped with dash of impatience, a pinch of anger, and cups of frustration.
By the weekend, the pain eased and we said our apologies to one another. I admitted the autism was kicking my ass and he readily said the autism was kicking his ass. We were in loving agreement. However, he said he wanted to tell me more in his card.
So, he slid the card under the bedroom door. It was simple and sweet, but one part was rather odd. It read, "Mom, sorry I was such a gark. Huh?
I tried re-reading it and sure enough, it was written clearly: gark. So, when I quietly strode into my son's room to thank him and hug him, I had to ask what a gark was (while praying it wasn't some new-fangled slang that was dirty or vulgar).
He looked at me funny and said, "I dunno, what's a gark?"
"Well, it's what you wrote," I said and I showed him the card.
He laughed and said, "No, no, no. That's the word jerk. So much for spelling!"
It was one of those small moments, that a Gritty mother warrior and her Gritty warrior son, had a feeling of brevity and lightness.
My dear boy, sorry I was such a gark, too.
Onward and upward to those Gritty Tacomans and all the other Grittys out there! Kim Thompson likes to get gritty HERE on her blog!