Mother or Villain

Their eyes roll. My voice rolls across their ears like the sound of screeching metal, one that has all those in the vicinity tensing until it stops. The content of what I say, it's rightness or wisdom, and my deep intention to keep them from suffering, to increase their joy and wellbeing, all this is unimportant.

I wake sometimes in the middle of the night, roused from the blissful quiet of sleep, to have my mind jump from one disaster to another, like my son jumping from rock to rock to cross a stream. Interrupted, my sleep.

There are other times where I see them walking out the door with some of their breakfast still on their face, some errant strand of hair sticking straight up, their legs bare to the cold and I know other children can be cruel and other parents still worse, passing judgement on my "neglect." But they shrug off my assistance and advice, they think they know better. They wish I would just stop. Damaged, my reputation as a loving and attentive mother.

And so I have turned inward, more and more of the time opting to witness in silence, knowing experience must be their teacher and hope she will be gentle to them, for they are precious to me. I reach instead to a good book in the middle of the night, telling visions of their demise to shove off. I make sure there is a hairbrush in the bathroom in case they decide to use it. And I know the depth of my love for them, even if they cannot hear it.

— slowjamr