Just Stuff

A son returns from work at 11 p.m. Knock, knock. A mom is .567% away from Dreamland. As much as mom wants to say, “Be gone with you!” the words do not form.

“Sure, you can come in. How was your work?”

“Crappy.” Now there’s a shock – a young guy complaining about his job!

“Oh, that’s too bad,” says mom.

Little by little mom wakes up as “stuff” is shared. Mother/son things. Nothing monumental. No earth-shattering revelations. Just stuff. The stuff that lives are made of.

Baby cries; mom feeds.

Toddler trips; mom rescues.

Youngster questions; mom answers.

Teenager rebels; mom waits.

Son talks; mom listens.

No matter the hour.

And it ever will be so.