Another 100 words from my upcoming memoir, Still Life with Boys... I'm sure any parent, regardless of whether they possess sons or daughters, will feel this to their very bones!
Jettisoning possessions consumes me. Others’ definition of just right - too much for me. I desire little but space, room to evolve.
My defenseless sons, wary of their minimalist mother, put up myriad walls. Missing possessions produce multiple accusations.
Where’s my whatsit - they accuse.
What did you do with it - they interrogate.
Don’t come in my room - they banish.
Sometimes it’s their own carelessness; oftentimes it’s my own rootlessness. I’ll gladly take blame, if I can abandon the rest.
A mother’s love? Limitless. They’ll never own it outright, so I must continuously make room, or the walls will collapse, crush me.