No Help

Maddie, what should I write about?

You should write about how you worked at McDonald’s and you didn’t like it so you went to the candy store. The End. 

Brian, what should I write about?

You should write about the 20th anniversary Sevendust show and how we didn’t get to go. You could watch the video if you need inspiration.

Gabby, what should I write about?

No response. She is a cat after all. 

Hailey, what should I write about?

Mawww! (That’s her meow that usually means, Feed me human!) 

I’m surrounded by useless inspiration. They didn’t give me a darn thing to write.

Maybe they should slice instead.

 

Another One Bites the Dust

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We thought we had turned a corner. We thought there was for sure some improvement. We were excited that she’d be branching out. We were excited that there would be some variety. There was a celebration and such anticipation to showcase, runway style, each and every piece. We were positive that the Elsa doll would no longer be the best dressed member of our family.

I had eyed that one with the cutout bow in the back with a dubious eye. Quick as a blink was that look I gave Grandma. Over and gone before anyone could even register it. So big was her excitement about all the excitement that I never uttered a word in caution.

She won’t wear that. It’ll bother her. There’s no way. 

All the purchases from the dressing room fashion show were lovingly laid out for wear this week. Day one went off without a hitch- only a mild squabble about how the picture on the shirt is a French Bulldog and not a cat. This somehow led to an hour long platform about how we should get a Pug.

Day two was slated for the bow. The one with the lovely rose and teacup wishing you to be their guest. I’m sure it’s all the rage in the houses where its copies ended up. I can recall the sparkle in her eye as she went upstairs to get ready for the day. I can also recall how that sparkle was snuffed out when she descended, clutching the bow in her hand, and sporting Day three’s panda instead.

“Mom, I can’t wear this the bow bothers me and NO I can’t wear a tank top it doesn’t go high enough so I’m going to hang it on my door and we can do something with it maybe Elsa can wear it,” all stumbles out of her mouth in one breath.

Before I can even think, I swear she gets stuff she won’t wear just for that doll, she shrugs and heads into the living room to eat her breakfast.

 

 

2017 Poemy Monday the Third

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Won’t You Come Back?

Back for a visit,
just for a day.

Decision to be selfish,
for you and your littlest.

She’ll want you to stay,
it’s so hard to explain.

Places to see,
we’d love to come with.

To be able to see,
what you’ve always seen.

You’ll need to see her,
she’s been so tough.

So you’ll just have
to stay.
We need you.

You’re so far away,
come a little closer.
Just for a day.

Or forever.

This poem was “found” within a slice I wrote a few years ago. When the words of a poem struggle to form in my mind, I like to walk through old pieces and see what lines I can discover.

 

Breakfast Duos

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Breakfast?

Upon that word being uttered, you have about 10 minutes to roll out of bed and fix yourself up to resemble a human being of some sort.

There’s never a preconceived plan to go to breakfast. It’s a thought that floats through the air and waits for one of us to grasp on to it. Most weekends, it aimlessly flies around and never gets stuck.

This weekend, it was first thwarted by the pounding in our heads. Ah, but this morning it relished in needling in to his brain and finally won. Which left me the previously mentioned 10 minutes to get to the car lest he leave without me.

Our morning breakfast duos are some of my favorite. The week melts into the conversation and builds a bridge to the future.  Then we just are. We settle on any random fact, topic, or tidbit that strikes our fancy. Our place is a place where everyone knows your name.  The coffee is plentiful and never ending. The food comes fast and you’re encouraged to linger.

Linger, we do. For when we leave the day returns to us and we set off toward our obligations.

 

The Ultimate Solution 

My ever awake offspring never shall slumber past the early early early morning hours. She could have a raucous night of bed jumping and insane stuffed animal tom foolery and she will still stretch it out awake at 6:00. 

I’m thrilled to offer up the ultimate solution for anyone else who is in a constant battle between their love for morning laziness and their child’s zest for morning craziness. 

It starts with being able to send your kiddo off to the most amazing classroom each day. A classroom where within lies the best of teachers who keeps you on your toes and  runs you through a set of exhilarating (read exhausting) exercises for the mind. Add in a few besties and you have a pretty content child at the end of the day. 

After school you should really keep it going with a green cupcake or two. Did I mention that the teacher already chipped in to the effort and the sugar high is hanging on a shamrock shake? Good stuff man. 

Beware of letting the kiddo rest. Grab those holiday themed beverages and be sure to get your arses to that neighborhood friend’s house where the kids can run to and fro with a plastic Doctor’s kit  syringe threatening to give each other a shot. 

Ensure also that the grownups can hang around the table leaving the children to their own spinning and chasing devices. You’ll have to stop now and then to make sure they’re not burning down the house, but you can do that while engaging in conversation that does not include any sing song voices or discussions about Minecraft.

Rinse and repeat until 1 am when you notice three little heads cuddled on the couch whispering in tired voices playing on the phone. That’s your cue. 

Scoop up that kid, say your goodbyes, we need to do this again soon (for reals), and hightail it out of there. 

If you follow said instructions you’ll have a gloriously lazy morning that stretches out to almost 10 am. 

If only you could quiet the pounding in your head. 

Set the Alarm 

I set the  alarm. 

Every night before bed I scroll through the innumerate options waiting for me on my phone. There’s the 4:30, the 4:45, the 6:10, the 6:15. You get the idea. I still wonder on what occasion I may have needed that 4:30. This lady is not a morning person. Ever. 

Each night I select the 6:10. I never get out of bed at the 6:10. That’s what the 6:55 is for. Ocassionally the 6:40 if I have a meeting. 

I set the alarm as a safety net in case Brian forgets his or in case the never sleeping child decides to buck tradition and actually sleep. 

I set the alarm to take my required morning pill and needs to be taken at the same time every day and at least 30 minutes before I ingest my morning crack, I mean coffee. 

I set the alarm to be able to reset the alarm and steal a few extra minutes in my squished just right for me bed. The cat is on board too. She saunters over and cuddles right in. 

My secret though is that I set the alarm to catch a snippet. To spy. It’s not very often that I get to hang back and listen. Each day there’s her too happy sing song morning voice and his too tired low rumble filled with love for this little girl. 

They have their own pregame show before the day begins. 

I set the alarm so I don’t miss it. 

Morning Slip and Slide

We have creaky hardwood floors. 

This prevents us from freely walking to the bathroom in the early morning hours lest we wake up the already early riser.  

This leaves two choices: Hold it, or slip and slide. 

If you slide out of bed and slip across the floor to the doorway along the wall, you’re golden. 

Slide over to the opposite wall down the hall, slipping just under and past the photos on the wall. 

Stop at the end of the hall and slowly take one big arching slide across the threshold. 

It’s a dance that anyone with night vision goggles would find highly entertaining. 9 out of 10 times you achieve zero creaks. 

This morning a few choice words and a very soft but not soft enough request to turn on the light cut the jugular of my effort. 

I slipped and slid like a master. 

It’s just that the cat and her hairball got there first. 

Tempered Zest 

I’m never as aware that my lonely only is a lonely only as when there is a day like a snow day. 

Such a day is filled with wonder and anticipation. When getting on the bus is torture because you’re all suited up and that sparkly wonderfulness is hands off. When getting off the bus means diving headfirst into the first snow bank you see and deciding just how to maximize the hours before dinner. 

It’s a type of day when mom and dad just can’t fulfill the zest that such a day requires. Snowballs sail a little slower than normal. Snowmen are a little too spherical and a tad too straight. Stamina is not what it should be. 

The lonely only spirits of the world are amazing at bringing their own tempered zest along for the ride though. 

It’s that zest that says,  “I’m gonna build an ice castle for Elsa with the icicles.” 

The ice castle is of course amazing. An imagination gets well developed when none of the plastic playmates can talk back. 

I smile at the concentration that furrows her brow and the sing song voice that alternates with her own steady rhythm. 

She’s having a blast. She really is. 

I’m left wishing for her to experience that over zealous take it all in feeling and conspiratorial planning that a snow day requires when there’s a pack of minds looking to go all in. 

It’s raucous snowball wars from a perfectly crafted hiding spot behind haphazard snow forts.  

It’s building a giant igloo behind the garage and trying to sneak supplies so you can move in full time. 

It’s gathering snow from three yards to build your own hill for sledding. 

It’s staying out all day and coming in all wet and soggy to talk endlessly about how spectacularly awesome that snowball attack really was. 

I just want her to get swept up in some full throttle no holds barred zest. A zest she so rarely gets to be a part of without any co-conspirators at the ready. 

 Elsa will be there when she gets back. 

Mojo, Where Did You Go?

Damn you slices. My reading mojo has up and left the building. You’ve stolen it away.

I usually leave my heart of hearts on my bookcase staircase during the month of March. I’ve sliced and diced all about that. I’ve long settled into the fact that this month is a hiatus from my wild reading habits.

Except for I haven’t. I’ve been feeling that feeling of wobbling my way through the days and nights without any pages to hold me steady.

Saturday I decided to take charge of that wobble and steady myself.

Except for it didn’t go so well.

Two pages, stop.

Four pages, stop.

Six pages, fall asleep?!?!

My absence from the worlds found within the pages turned me into one of those readers I work tirelessly to turn into voracious readers such as my old self.

I then turned my tactics on myself. I chose a new book. I went to a new spot. I went in search of my reading mojo, for I desperately needed it back.

It took a few hours and a catch your breath moment (was I really holding my breath?) to stumble across it.

I knew it was there when I felt myself holding the page and starting to turn, in a race to get to the end of the page and keep going.

I knew it was there when that story followed me to the park with the two gremlins in tow.

I especially knew it was there when I found myself straining closer to the window in search of light because the light switch was too far away and would require me to stop reading.

My trusty mojo is back and slices be damned, I will not let it slip again.
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