Line By Line

If we were having coffee, we’d be hiding in the kitchen while Isla counts the balls in her ball pit and Neil plays the shit out of Isla’s toy guitar.

You’d be convincing me that I can write a mystery on a wharf including a dog collar for NYC Midnight’s Flash Fiction Challenge.  While I do feel better about this assignment  than the Short Story Challenge, it would seem that the only story elements I can work with these days are:

Coffee

Peppa Pig

and

Angst.

Isla just wandered into the kitchen, opened the fridge and took out a yogurt.  She grows a year older every night.  Today, she is a teenager shuffling around the house and raiding the kitchen.

Pass me the tissues.

So, the TV is on in the backgroud.  Neil has traded the guitar for turning on the washing machine.

Yes, I know I’m lucky.  I’m lucky my husband does things around the house, I’m lucky my child does her own thing, even if that thing changes every five minutes.  And the things don’t stop until she zonks out at 8.30pm.

I’m lucky we live in the country.  With the peace and quiet.  And the sheep.

I’m lucky to have people come into my house every day to help me wrangle my very active child.  I’m lucky she goes for walks and brings me back flowers.  I’m really lucky if she gives me a kiss with those flowers.

I live for those kisses.

But I’m lucky Isla isn’t clingy.  I’m lucky she likes people who aren’t me.  I’m lucky I’m the one who cries when she leaves the house.  I’m lucky I’m the one who needs hugs.  I’m lucky she likes to read.  To herself.

I’m lucky we have all these friends to visit in other places.  I’m lucky shopping and coffee and looking at those friends has become a treat.  Because y’know, seeing your friends all the time can be really fucking boring.

I’m lucky that Neil is taking Isla out for awhile, so ‘Mummy can write.’

Before they left, Isla brought me some paper.  Apparently, she’ll kiss me if there’s words on it when they get back.

youshouldbewriting

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

11 thoughts on “Line By Line

  1. I hear you. Anyone who’s been the mother of a young child can relate to the mixed feelings you’ve captured here. And I love the bravery in your voice as you keep your spirits up while you count your blessings. But it sounds, to one who only knows you through your writing, as though you might be feeling a bit isolated and sad. If I lived closer I’d come and visit. So here are some virtual hugs. Well done. You’re writing again.

  2. You are lucky, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hanker for time to do the things that YOU want and need to do… it has been a constant conflict in my life as a writer and I catch myself occasionally looking forward to the children leaving home – imagine all that space and time!! – and then I feel guilty and put down my laptop ad ask them who wants to play a game. There is no answer I’m afraid, just trying to get the words down when you can.. lovely post.

    1. Oh, yeah. I’m lucky, but I’m also sarcastic. Assistance fatigue, or something. I need to write more on this. This has led to more ideas.

      Thanks for your thoughtful response.

  3. 🙂 Me thinks the lady doth protest to much! It’s good to count those things we’re lucky to have, especially when we’re not actually feeling so lucky.

    1. Yeah, I was being sarcastic. I mostly like when the PAs arrive, but I also like when they leave. I appreciate being alone with my kid.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s