The Rhythm of the Marketplace

     The marketplace was bustling today.  I had a monstrous list of things I wanted.  My little boy looks forward to market days with so much to see and do!  Still after traipsing through the stalls and waiting in endless lines, he becomes restless.  

     While waiting at the bakers he became fascinated with the metal wastebasket reserved for the wrappings that accompany the samples.  He stood drumming happily on the lid a musical rhythm to the amusement of those surrounding us.   With him occupied, I busied myself filling my basket and purchasing an assortment of fresh-baked breads for the upcoming week.

This is a fictional tale in response to the picture prompt for the  Write Tribe 100 Words on Saturday writing prompt.  A special thank you to Vidya Sury for providing the picture for today's prompt.

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The Shoe

 
     I am running behind.  Well then, I am always running behind!  Now that Brittney has figured out how to take her shoes off she hides them everywhere.  She thinks it is a game.  I think it is a pain in the ass.  Especially when we need to be at her doctor’s appointment in less than an hour and I never have the foresight to lay out her outfit and shoes the night before.     When will I learn to put her shoes up out of her reach?  Think!  Where in the hell can they be?  She is so oblivious playing with her toys and singing to herself.  OK, if I were her and a precocious 3 year old what would I do with my shoes? 




       I decide to rule out the places that are wild first.  I peer in the toilet bowl at the clear water, rush to the refrigerator and search among the pickles, hot dogs, and cheese.  I am beginning to freak out!  I glance at the clock, at my precious little darling and decide to ask her.  Who knows, maybe she will actually tell me! Ha!  “Brittney, honey, do you know where your shoes are?  Can you show Mommy?”  She looks up at me with her innocent eyes, smiles her sweet smile, and says “I left them for the Prince to find!”  Great!  I continue my search exasperated.  She is 3, what bloody nonsense is she talking about?  No princes live here!   I don’t have time for this crap!!  The clock is ticking.  I have to make it across town on time or they will reschedule plus charge me for missing the damn appointment!


         Frantic, I begin searching the cupboards.  Who knows?  Maybe her prince is there?  Brittney ambles out to the kitchen singing “Hey Diddle Diddle” when I notice she is actually wearing one of her shoes.  Sweet mother of God!  “Honey, do you know where your other shoe is?  It is really important that we find it!!”  She looks at me with a sideways glance and smiles.  “Don’t you ‘member where Cinderella left her shoe after the ball Mommy?”  I stop what I am doing and stare at my baby while understanding slowly dawns.  My mouth drops.  I read her “Cinderella” last night before bed.  Holy shit!  I am running late and she has me living a flipping fairy tale!   

       I rush out to the dining room and glance out the glass sliding doors to the patio where she had played earlier while I drank my morning dose of caffeine and there almost glowing in the morning sunlight is my daughter’s shoe!!  I make a beeline for the shoe while grabbing my purse, pick up my sweet baby, lock the patio door,   and sprint to my car.  I glance at my watch as I buckle her into her car seat, put on her shoe, and give her a toy to occupy her for the ride.  I still have time!! Breathe!!   As I back out of the driveway, I glance in the rear view mirror and see myself for the first time and really register what I look like.   My hair looks uncombed; however my face is washed clean.  With a grimace, I comb my fingers through my unruly locks.  Screw it!  I am late as it is!  After all, it doesn’t matter what I look like, they are seeing her, right?   I glance back at her playing happily.  She looks completely adorable.  I continue on down the street toward our appointment which I will be able to make with no time to spare.



This completely fictional story from the depths of my imagination was written in response to the Write Tribe Wednesday writing prompt.  This weeks prompt is a picture prompt courtesy of Vidya Sury.

         

The First Day

      It was his first day.  He was wearing new clothes, new shoes, and his brand new backpack was filled with brand new school supplies.  He was all clean and sparkly, utterly adorable, and brimming with anticipation.  Filled to the brim, the backpack must have been awful heavy on his small shoulders.  He was so excited for the adventure that kindergarten offered.  

       He didn’t notice my bittersweet mood.  Where had the time gone?  Could it be possible that my precious son had grown so much he was big enough to start school?  My heart clenched as he hugged and kissed me goodbye on his way out the door to catch the bus.  I told him to have a good day, to have fun at school, and with a heavy heart I let him go. 

        As I watched him walk out the door I thought about that precious armful he had once been and compared him to the fine young man he would one day be. I hoped the kids would be nice to him.  I hope he makes friends.  I hope he likes school!  “Please God, go with him.  Please, let the other kids be nice to him!” I silently begged.   He looked back and waved.  I bit my lip, swallowed the tears threatening to escape, smiled, and waved back.  There he goes, my little man off to discover and experience life…without me.

Written for the Write Tribe Wednesday prompt.  Photo courtesy of Morgue File.

Sex Education

NaBloPoMo asks

“Do you think sex education should come from the parents, the school, or a mix of both?

     I think sex education should come from a mixture of both.   Back when I was growing up, I admit I was completely clueless about sex.  It was not a subject my mom ever discussed and it would have been a cold day in hell when I would have asked questions about such a thing.  In the 6th grade I got a rude awakening when the powers that be at the school decided it was time to separate the girls from the boys and show gender specific movies about the reproductive system.  Up until that moment, I never even knew I had a vagina.  I had assumed that a woman felt a whopper of a shit coming on and then a baby emerged after much grunting.  Surprise, surprise, and don’t forget to wipe!  Hell, I didn’t know!  I assumed men had something to do with the process, but I had absolutely no clue how the whole thing was accomplished.

     I remember the movie appalling me.  The idea of bleeding every month down there was not only gross but humiliating.  I wasn’t the only one whose jaw dropped and eyes bugged out that day.   The ride home on the bus proved that at least one of the boys in my class was as astonished by the information he received that day from his movie.  He found out he had peanuts in his pants!  If I were him, I would have been ruined from eating nuts for the rest of my life.

      I was never subjected to the talk about the birds and the bees at home.    Back in those days, if you wanted to see an “R” rated movie that included sex, you had to go to the theater and be 18.  Yes, I grew up in the time period before the invention of VCR’s, DVD’s, cable, and the internet and they sure as hell didn’t show stuff like that on TV.  My education was next to none on the subject.  My folks obviously did the deed or I wouldn’t be here, but growing up you would have never guessed exactly what the deed was.  It was a subject that was never discussed.  I was completely clueless.

 

       Embarrassing as it is to admit, by the time I got my first real look-see at what lurked inside a man’s boxer shorts at almost 19 I had no idea what the hell to do with it or where to put it.  It was awkward as hell.  I felt like a complete moron and I was.  When I had my own children I made a vow early on that neither one of my kids were ever going to be as ignorant as their mother was.  We discuss it.   It is perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of. It is part of life.  In this day in age, ignorance is not bliss.  I would rather have my kids be informed and benefit from my experience and wisdom.  I don’t come up with screwy names for what lies between their legs; I give them the actual terms.  I answer any questions they have as honestly and truthfully as I can.  I owe them that much.

 

         The education they receive on the subject at school only adds to their knowledge.  Knowledge is a wonderful thing.  Better to have it, than to be left floundering and wondering why.  Ignorance can lead to an unwanted pregnancy or worse yet a STD that they could carry with them the rest of their lives.  Seems to me it would be more useful to be educated in sex than in mythology or algebra.  At least, that knowledge you will use and build on all your life.

 

A Warning Laced with Love

     Mom‘s were put on this earth to worry about their kids.  “Be careful!” my mother warned over the years for countless reasons.  I almost always took her advice.  When I didn’t, I learned the hard way.   I would walk instead of run.  I would be careful what I wished for, because I might not really want that wish if I ever truly obtained it.  That lesson was a little harder to learn.   When my children arrived I began warning them to be careful.  I protect them. I want them to be safe.  “Be careful!” is a warning laced with love.

Bedtime Story

     My mom would tenderly tuck me in and kiss me good night.  If she read to me, I can’t remember because it wasn’t an every night thing and let‘s face it, it was a long time ago!  However, I do fondly remember my dad reading to me every Christmas Eve without fail.  He would always read “The Night Before Christmas”.  One year Santa Claus left me a much treasured copy of “The Grinch Stole Christmas” and from that time on, I insisted he read that story too.  It became my absolute favorite!

 

       I have always been surrounded by tons of books.  I took great pleasure in turning the pages and staring captivated at the colorful pictures.  When I got old enough to read, I was the one reading the stories.  I lost myself within those pages and many of my games for pretend originated from those precious books.  I have always loved books.  As I grew older, books replaced the playmates and friends I didn’t have.  I filled my time with them.  At school, my friends often acted out the scenes from our favorite books.  I recall vividly playacting out the “Little House” books under the trees of my elementary school playground.

       How ironic that my favorite job was in a position ordering mountains of books for a local library.  Even when I reached adulthood I surrounded myself with books.  When I became pregnant, I began reading the books I was reading myself aloud to share with the baby that was growing inside me.  I have shared my love of books with my children from the very beginning.  They have both been entered into the summer reading programs from the precious age of one.  I would check out tons of books, and before bedtime I would read each and every one of them with my kids snuggled tight against me.  When I was pregnant for my son I was put on bed rest.  Since I couldn’t do much else, I read mountains of stories to my daughter that summer.  So many in fact she won top prize for most books read in the local library’s summer reading program.  I continued the tradition with my son.

         Every night before bed, we still gather on my bed and I read 3 stories.  If I am not too tired I read more.  Lately the winds of change are in the air.  My twelve year old has started to abandon story time with mommy more and more to retreat to her own room so she can read her own books.    Not only has my daughter retreated to read alone, but my son is starting to read a story to me.  We trade off reading so he can practice his skills.  One day they will both grow too old for mommy’s story time and I will be back to reading to myself at bedtime.  It seems I have spent my entire lifetime between the covers of a book getting to know the characters and becoming apart of their lives if only for a little while.  Until the day when neither of my kids want mommy to read bedtime stories, I will continue to read to them and enjoy the precious moments while they last until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

This Too Shall Pass-BFF 224

      There are times in life when nothing seems to go right.  Money comes in short supply despite the fact that bills keep right on coming in at an alarming rate.   Maybe the job that you were so excited to get begins to lose its luster when you realize what the word “sub” really means.  Add in constant migraines, a killer backache, and a splattering of other health issues and you discover more reasons to wish that tomorrow would just never come.  You go two steps forward only to fall five steps back like some sick and twisted real life “Chutes and Ladder’s” game.
  

       No one wants to hear about it really.  They have their own problems and issues to deal with.  No one wants to hear non stop doom and gloom.  People want others to be light hearted and happy soldiering through life’s turmoil with a smile on their face and a song in their heart if for no other reason than so they too can have hope in their own journey through life.  Why else when asked how we are everyone tends to lie through their teeth by saying “I’m fine!”

       Growing up my mom and dad had a piece of advice they dished out for almost every complaint.  They would embrace me in a hug and say with much tenderness “This too shall pass.”  Over the years I have found comfort and solace in these four words.  I also realized that they were loaded with truth.  Time is constantly passing and ticking by.  Things are continuously changing.  The fact that life seems especially bleak at the moment doesn’t mean that it will always be so.  I may walk around with a little black rain cloud hovering over my head now, but tomorrow the sun will come out.  I will find another reason to smile.  A person must have faith.  Things never come in our time.  They always come in G0d’s time.  By the time that happens we have learned from the struggle and appreciate even more the reprieve.

       Now that I am a parent I find myself uttering these words of wisdom to my own children.  It is the one thing a person can count on for certain especially when riddled with pain.  You will either get over it, or you will die with it.  Regardless, this too shall pass regardless the outcome until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Blue Moon-BFF 225

      Blue moon ice cream fascinated me as a kid.  My folks loved ice cream and bought it often.  There were times when my mom was on a weight loss binge that ice cream was all she ate.  Seriously, she would go through gallons and gallons of the stuff and lose oodles of pounds.    I am not sure if it works for everyone, but it sure worked for her.

     My Dad indulged in a bowl of ice cream each and every night before bedtime.  Even though the usual favorites around the house were butter pecan, rocky road, or strawberry, every now and then Mom would indulge us with a gallon of Blue Moon ice cream.  I never remember eating the stuff from a dish.  Mom always loaded a cone with several scoops and I would take great delight licking up every single drop usually emerging after with a blue face, blue tongue, and blue sticky fingers.   I was a kid and messier than hell.   It used to drive my mother insane that I managed to get ice cream everywhere and didn’t eat it before it began to drip and melt all over hell.

 

      She would chase after me in disgust ordering me to change my shirt, wash my face and hands, and giving me all kinds of merry hell for eating like a pig.   She made a lot of noise, but she never stopped indulging me.  You will be happy to know that I now can eat ice cream with little evidence that is what I have been up too.  It is a skill that I still struggle with.  I rarely can walk away from eating or cooking without leaving a remnant on myself.  Then, much like my mother I have to change and put stain remover on the offending spot immediately.  In the end she did instill in me a sense of cleanliness.

      Paybacks are hell and the sloppiness of youth comes back to haunt you when you become a parent.  While my daughter can eat virtually anything without getting a drop on herself, my son takes after me.  He eats like a pig and manages to leave half of whatever he eats all over his clothes, hands, and face.  I can’t say much considering I was the queen of the slop hogs when I was a kid.  All I can do is clean him up, strip off the dirty shirt, and make him presentable once again.  I fuss over my kids something fierce and can not tolerate seeing dirt on my kid period.  It made for endless loads of laundry during the toddler years as they learned to use utensils and find their mouths.

      Heaven knows that is why G0d created soap and water!!  It is one of my greatest comforts in life that most things wash off.  Once I got over changing diapers and cleaning up vomit, being a mom wasn’t so bad.  The smell could kill you, but the fact remains that $hit, vomit, and most stuff washes off.  I am even happier G0d allowed us to live in a world with big full blue moons in the sky and blue moon ice cream to eat.  Until next time I will be happily devouring blue moon ice cream and barking at the moon.