Stone 1

Hmm

Outside my window, I watch my mom as she finishes washing the truck-- the white, 2016

Chevy Colorado. She is spraying the last bit of suds from the back tire, rinsing off the rims as is

starts to get dark outside. She is wearing a grey and black striped long sleeve shirt with her hair

up in a braided bun and wearing glasses. Her face is concentrated and pursed slightly. She

finishes rinsing, then dumps out the bucket of suds onto the driveway. Not two minutes after

getting home from being at work all day have passed before she went outside to tidy up my

money-pit disaster of a car, then decided to wash the truck sitting next to it. I never could quite

comprehend her stamina. I have been the one driving the truck, even just got back from a week

long trip with it. A light layer of grime sweeps across, discoloring the outer white mildly, and her

immediate reaction is, “The truck is filthy! You don’t take care of it. You don’t care about it. It

should be washed every week.” I told her before I left that I’d clean it when I got back, but it’s

been two days, and I spent most of both asleep.

We care about things differently, my mom and I.

Her mind flutters from one external worry to the next. Nail clippers for the dogs,

sweeping the deck, rearranging and deep cleaning the living room. It feels like she constantly

works, but can’t quite seem to accomplish much. The dogs nails continue to grow, the rain wears

down on the deck and is continuously embedded with moss between the planks, and the house

always manages to re-establish a state of uncleanliness. Even on her days off she goes to work,

and yet she never feels caught up.

 Stone 2

I have the opposite problem; I internalize and fall idle. The more there is to do, to tend to,

to get done, the more I sit and stare off into nothingness, relating business, monotony, and full

schedules to the posterboard of an unfulfilling life ahead.

My mother is the hardest working person I’ve ever known. I have seen her renovate an

entire house with her bare hands, while still maintaining a stressful full-time career. I have seen

her continue physical labor after her hands became bloody, and watched her go to work right

after her beloved mom passed away. She is a provider, tough and resilient. Never has she failed

to buy my brothers and I presents for Christmas, or make us feel loved and safe, even when she

continuously missed payments, borrowed money, or got deeply into debt.

My mother is a pillar, to which my brothers and I are built from, yet she is riddled with

cracks and a crumbling infrastructure.