trivial...yet huge...why.

Shaking inside, walking around the house as a madwoman. Yelling at anything crossing my path, tonight...my poor dog. My big gentle giant seems to just be in the wrong place at the wrong time....again and again. Why...why cant my son tell me where it hurts, Why cant i get across to him that I'm only trying to help.

Why does this damned fever keep coming and going, and why doesn't he want me?? He wants daddy, and he's sure to let me know.

Shaking inside...pacing about...."why is the frigg'n air not working again?!" This then leads to....finding and picking out everything i HATE about my house, forgetting all the things i love about it. "You know what the problem is i bet...plumber told you to leave the vents open, you didn't" Of course i know its not my husbands fault its just part of the cycle, these events hurt everyone. Why....the hell does he still love me??

Does he?

Tonight....tonight is a bad night. My son needs to see a doctor and I cant take him. Three of us holding him down and still no exam could be preformed. He needs an exam badly. "ouch" grabbing various areas of his body...lately his genitals.

Tonight, i feel so lost.

I feel inadequate as mom.

I feel undeserving of love..

I feel undeserving of this rant. This is nothing....nothing to so many, yet tonight...for me, this is huge, and i don't get it..

Related articles by Zemanta

• No witty title, just a simple and heartfelt goodbye Bob (sendchocolatenow.com)

Mom, Sorry I Was Such a Gark

There is a cupboard in my kitchen that houses all of my office supplies like staplers, tape, envelopes, and the like. I can always tell when my son gets in there because I hear things fall and clatter to the floor. I can hear the tape being ripped off the roll like it's being strangled, and the cupboard door slams open and shut probably three times. Very hard. Not in anger, but for lack of finesse. I know I will walk down to a royal mess like pens missing caps, papers spilled all over the floor, and paper clips dumped from the box.

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!