Killing me with kindness

I send her out of bed if her breathing annoys me, I criticize the way she keeps the dining room table (which is her office), I make fun of the way she walks with the same person every morning. Yet she always thinks of me: comes up with cool pants out of organic material with lots of pockets (she won't tell me where they came from), leaves the largest banana bread loaf for me and takes two smaller ones to the grandkids and, yesterday, when workmen were here putting in a new driveway I looked out and there she was hauling fill into the backyard in wheelbarrow with a flat tire. Flat because I wouldn't let her ask a neighbor for a pump because I like to be self-sufficient. The workmen knew I was in the house, hiding, so I went out to pretend to help her but by that time she was moving heavy rocks - trying to make me look bad.