The battle of the wills.
By inevertoldher on December 16, 2013
Her daughter was born medically fragile.
She had too many diagnosis to list.
She was actively dying.
She had special needs.
She was small in stature.
She couldn’t walk far or fast.
But, she was still a child.
She was a lovely, stubborn, wonderful child.
She made me laugh.
And like all children...
She could press her Mom’s buttons.
Her first eye exam...she wouldn’t talk.
The doctor tried everything.
They tried reverse psychology.
They made promises.
That child was not going to speak.
Appointment was a fail.
She called me.
Level of frustration...high.
I started to giggle.
She got mad.
I started to laugh.
She went quiet.
When I snorted...
She joined in.
We listened to each other gasp for breath.
Thanks, she said.
No problem, I replied.
The school called.
Her daughter had been disciplined.
She had buried her shoe in the sand box.
She would not tell the teacher where.
She would not help the teacher look.
She had to sit in a chair.
The chair was in the hallway.
Her classmates were inside the class.
She was left out there alone.
The teacher called her at work.
The teacher thought she would like to know.
She thanked the teacher for calling.
Then she called me right away.
I baked a cake...in the shape of a shoe.
Surprisingly, none of us choked.
We laughed and laughed as we celebrated her daughter’s deviance.
Her daughter was so proud.
Her shoe wasn’t in the sandbox at all.
It was in her bag...full of sand!
She loved it.
Her daughter didn’t love it.
It was a rotten day.
It had rained all day.
It was windy and nasty.
The temperature felt like it might snow.
She pushed the cart to the car as fast as she could.
She lifted her daughter and put her in the car.
They were wet just getting to the car.
She was rushing so they wouldn't be soaked.
Suddenly, her daughter wouldn’t budge.
Her daughter refused to get inside the car.
She refused to bend her knees.
She refused to turn into the seat.
Half in and half out...the battle of the wills began.
The rain continued to come down.
She waited her out.
Eventually, her daughter submitted.
She was absolutely drenched.
Soaked right through.
Not a word was spoken.
But the slight curve to that child’s lips...spoke volumes.
The groceries bags were wet.
The food was soaked.
She put them in the trunk and got inside the car.
She drove home.
By the time they were home, the rain had stopped.
Her daughter, happily, got out of the car and went into the house.
What? Was the expression she gave her Mom.