Poem 4/15/11

Friday At The Playground

Oh, it's easy to go to the park,
walking there and walking back,
child riding ahead on a too-small trike,
It's easy to be the mom who has to keep
reminding again and again,
"don't climb over little kids,"
"no throwing mulch," "gentle"
because he just doesn't quite get it,
It's easy being the mom who says,
"let's go" when it's not working out,
when the shoe that keeps falling off
causes a meltdown when you try to fix it,
and someone you wanted to befriend just arrived
and you get to say maybe five sentences.
It's easy being the mom who expects
her other friend's child to just be ready
to leave immediately, right before a scuffle
breaks out between (thank G-d) other kids.
It's easy to be the mom who walks ahead,
or behind. It's easy. It just requires
leaving behind all pretense and ego.
It requires being the mom who is willing to be that mom.
Looking like she's wrong (over-protective,
or under-responsive or both) when really
there's neural and behavioral issues at play,
no excuses just repetition and being
more vigilant when things are off,
It just requires doing and being
and carrying home the blues of a Friday,
the reminder of all that is different,
the tired ache of not-knowing, but at least
he can speak at a two year old level now,
at almost five. At least he can voice
his desires, even if he doesn't understand
conversation and writes his name on the sofa
when you're sitting in the other room,
catching your breath while he happily scribbles away...
and you're happy just because he's alive,
and can walk, and hold a pen and the million
other little things that other moms
just take for granted
when their kids don't have white spots on their brains.