Child’s Play, A Story


Chapter 1:

I heard faint, play filled giggles as I hung the worn out dish brush to dry and turned the faucet to off. *drip…drip…* “Dammit, I need to remember to have Mario look at that.” I quickly dried my hands and wiped the seemingly endless amount of droplets off the counter top as I left the puddle of water to accessorize my new shirt. 
I tried to retrace my child’s footsteps. It didn’t take too long. As I continued to follow the distanced laughter, I shut off the buzzing ceiling fan and unnecessary light in the play room. I picked up a barbie who’s hair I cut off haphazardly when I was not much older than my daughter, a harmonica, and dirt streaked mismatched socks queen B had taken off prior to her newest barefoot expedition.
I knew I was rounding in on the infamous queen herself. I opted to creep silently, to give myself time to prepare. My gap toothed, curly~blonde headed, four year old, tiny tot was a brazen force to be reckoned with. She was as unpredictable as a full fledged hurricane deep in the throws of her fury but also as breathtaking as the heavy aired, distinctly rain scented, grey smear of portrait perfect clouds with the most picturesque rainbow peaking out as its golden ray accentuated centerpiece. Yes, she is the storm and she is the calm. She is my daughter. My Isabell.
***Dear readers, this is my first real attempt at a short story. I’ve been craving a new creative writing piece for several days, but with my full work and single mom schedule, I rarely find the time or energy. Today, would have been my dad’s 62nd birthday had he survived. I’ve been thinking of him off and on all day. This is in his honor. I’ll write at least one more chapter before I commit to my pillow for the evening.***

The Social Experiment

(imagine this as a spoken word piece)

Social Experiment

Shake hands, nod, smile pleasantries, and then, sit.

Face to face, shoulders and backs aligned, here we go, your eyes on mine, my eyes on yours.

Breathing nervously, breathing fast, breathing slower. Ever so aware, of my breath, of my pulse, of my very own heart’s rhythm…and now yours.

Nervous twitches in and of my mouth, fidgeting fingers, still ever so aware of my breathing…and now yours.

I feel the soft and slightly scratchy material of my retail bought “grandma sweater”. I wore in layers. For style, for comfort, for security. While holding on to the sweater sleeves as if my dear life depended on it, your piercing gaze was effecting me in more ways than one.

I felt as if you were seeing all of me, by looking into my eyes. In my mind’s eye, I rewound until you saw me as a mere child, creating appetizing mud pies and unbeknownst to my parents, making Barbies…kiss. You saw adolescent Miranda, in all her frizzy haired, pimply skinned, out-dated hand me down clothes, prepubescent glory. You saw my adult triumphs and my soul shattering weaknesses. You saw me fall, and then you saw me stand.

With a tear in my eye, and a shiny, skinned knee, I meet your gaze. Ever so aware of my breathing…and now yours.

I see the hidden stress just barely visible on your face. It’s in your expression, your posture, your breath. You’ve stayed strong for one day too many. No one really looks into your eyes anymore. Our society has made it taboo. Well, I’m looking now. Really looking. I see anguish. I see longing. I see need, and I see relief. I breathe in my awareness, and I breathe out yours. I see how the wind just barely tickles your hair into your face. You debate on whether or not to acknowledge it. In another lifetime, another moment in time, I would have had no second thoughts. I’d have lovingly replaced the hair back into its place, but we aren’t to touch, simply look… and breathe.

I see your face alight in laughter. I see joy, passion, and kindness. I sense your strengths, and I feel your worries. You’re a strong warrior, but even warriors need their wounds tended to and their cups refilled.

With dampened rag in hand, and a pitcher for your soul, I see you.

So very aware of my breathing…and now yours.

So tell me, what’s YOUR creative outlet?

lakeside-seating

Today’s question of the day was, “What’s your creative outlet?”. I was having a really “on” morning. Woke up on time, smile in place, make-upped, coffee high…just an all around feel good morning. So without social anxiety to creep up … Continue reading

“Catch” with T-Rex

Catch with 2 toddlers consists of a lot of dinosaur type poses. Picture an adorable, roly poly, flexible, one year old as said t-rex. Now picture her arms angled a little more outwards, lots of lead footed scampering, curly hair flying, giggles, and an endless supply of high, ear piercing shrieks.

Amidst this joyful game of “catch”, there’s strategy(I mean, duh, because toddlers…). Mostly, once my tie-dyed dino gets the pink bouncing ball back in her paws, an intense game of keep away ensues. There’s toddler babbles, toddler attacks(this includes slobbering and occasional bites), fighting over whose turn it is(it’s hard to play “catch” with a baby who won’t throw the ball), and laughing and screaming hysterically every time anything, anything at all happens. Oh, you dropped the ball, insert insane laughter. Oh, you’re running away, insert my wish for ear plugs. Oh, you’re an adorable, chubby T-Rex, I smile, which translates to you shrieking even more.

I love catch.

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Bathroom Talk

Oh shit!!!!!

No, literally…

I was on the shitter when I heard the front door slam and moments, later baby giggles outside.

Ohhh mannnnn. Do I continue to empty my bowels, or do I go save the day? And by save the day, I mean half drag, half carry my two tots into the house, all while they are screaming and crying to stay outside(ya know, to taste test rocks and fight zombies and shit).

I decided to continue pooping as quickly as humanly possible. Yes, selfish, but I made a choice, by golly. So while I’m attempting to play Speed Racer in the toilet race of the century, all I can think is that my one and two year old are going on a walk by themselves. This means, my clumsy youngest will probably fall down the initial big hill. Once there, she’ll either cry or go to town chowing down at the all you can eat buffet commonly known as gravel. There’s a decent chance that a neighbor will find them and make a call to the officials leaving more sustenance for my abusive ex to use against me in any possible future squalor.

Wiped clean, raced(yes, sans washing of hands…) to the door, to nooooot find them wandering the neighborhood, to not find them greeted by a concerned neighbor. Nope, biggest was playing in the car, and littlest was exploring the immediate yard (That may or may not have consisted of taste testing non edibles.).

It was then that I sternly reminded my stinkpots of the deal we’d made prior to my bathroom excursion. Socks and shoes and outside time AFTER MOMMY GOES POTTY!

“Ohhh yeeeeah.”, the cutest little two year old voice says, as he erases my fears and fills me with smiles.

Time to go wash my hands…

Hashtag, World’s Most Okayest Mom(thanks, Would).

Let’s Talk About Passion

I remember once in junior high, we had a mock trial. I don’t even remember what the trial was about. What DO I remember? The shocked faces as I passionately drove my case home. I was told by more than one(teacher included) that I should become a lawyer. I laughed it off and said, “Nah, I’m an actress.”.

Let’s take a pause and talk about why that memory excites me. I’d like to believe it’s not fully ego based. Sure, we all like to be recognized and validated by outside sources for what we feel and/or believe we’re good at.

Life’s about sharing. At least the life I wish to live in.

That passion I unknowingly exuded and shared with others was informative and contagious(to both me and others!).

What desires am I currently delighting myself and my surroundings with?

What passions do you hold dear that have the ability to light up a room? Maybe a bouquet you arranged, or a picture you drew, a note you left, a smiley face fingered onto some dust, freely dancing in public, giggling with a toddler… I’m sure there is something you share with Mother that bring others peace and love.

Please, (re)find and share your passions with the world.

And then tell me all about it!!!❤

(Please!!!)

Anxiety vs Depression

I see you.

Aimlessly staring into your phone trying to direct your multi-focused attention and to feed your multitude of needs.

The thing is, I’m right here…

I’m right now.

I’m silently begging you to be present with me.

But you’re not a mind reader, and I don’t want to beg, or plead(or simply ask…), because that puts me in a very vulnerable position. Not that I mind hearing, “Not right now.”, or “In a minute.”, or even ” Later, baby.”.

It’s just…that’s as far as communication normally goes with us, and the whirlwind that is my mind, needs much more.

I want to reach out to you, to sweep your electronic away, and I want to help you feel valued, beautiful face to beautiful face. Loving you makes me feel whole. I want to crawl on top of you, delicately. Heavily draping my full body on top of yours, I wish to bring my arms around and on top of your head so that I’m clasping you within my bosom. I want to slowly kiss each of your eyelids, closing them with the warmth, moisture and tender love that only my mouth can gift to you. I want to find your heartbeat by nuzzling your neck. I seek to smell you. Feel you. I want nothing more than to give you comfort and pleasure. I want to go in-between massaging you with the lightest of scratches and embracing you with intense kneading that helps you to ultimately feel relaxed, sensual, and at peace.

I’m torturing myself with all of the possible reasons as to why you’re seeking an outside source of pleasure. The rational part of my brain knows you just need “you time”. To recoup after a hard day of working, or because you’re tired, or because the introvert in you doesn’t want to talk, or because you’re afraid of what I may need, or because…..

I supposed it’d be easier to tell you what I need than to wait for you to guess.

But that means I’d have to be vulnerable all over again.

I’ll wait this one out.

I cook you dinner. I emphasize the timing and ingredients and plating to please you. I try to keep the kids entertained to the best of my ability so that you’re able to unwind, or…whatever it is you’re doing. I’m barely acknowledged. The kids literally fight for your attention. Silence becomes a noose around my neck.

You thank me with a sincere smile, rinse your plate, and head back to the comfort of your phone.

I start to feel more and more hollow and disconnected as the night lingers on. I finish my nightly chores, parental duties, brushing of teeth, and head to bed.

It’s then that you decide to join me. You try to cuddle up to my backside. I lay stiff for moments that seem to last a lifetime for the both of us. I’m sincerely hoping you’re not sexually aroused. With the lack of affection, I’m obviously feeling less than attractive and valued.

You:

God, she’s beautiful. What the hell did I do to deserve her? Do you hear her? She’s humming. While tending to house chores, at that!

God, she’s coming. I don’t want her to feel awkward by me watching her.

Let’s see, what’s new on Facebook? Oh there’s a funny meme. I’ll share that. Maybe someone will laugh like I did.

Oh, another one. Gotta share that.

I wish my body didn’t hurt. I’d love to get down and play with my babies. Poor things would just have to hear me grumble about being in pain, though.

I wish I could give her everything she’s worthy of. She’s better than me. Deserves more…

Man, she can cook!!! I wish I could think of all the eloquent words to share and praise her with.

Good God, I need to lose weight. No wonder she doesn’t want to touch me. I look awful.

OK, first thing tomorrow. I’ll start exercising. That’ll help me, which will help us. I feel better about this decision.

I feel best next to her. She makes me feel loved.

She’s so stiff tonight. I wonder what’s wrong…

Mother Nature

You hear the faintest of rumbles in the distance, a sure promise of the oncoming rain. You half live under a rock, so you are  quite uncertain of the wrath or swiftness of the storm to come. You smile, innocently giddy, realising you’re pubescent-like excitement is bordering on silly.

OK, onto adulting…! Like an adult.

But that stooooooooorm…

It’s hypnotic aromas and sounds carry your mind away.

To sensual, cozy times.

Times when you were melted into one of your former lovers, arms and legs intertwined in the most sensual of ways, focusing on each other’s delight, with the slight pitter-patter echoing on the roof top, and the streams cascading down the window, performing a live show while you yourself were on the mainstage.

Playful, happy times.

Times when you were puddle jumping with your now “big girl”. The memory sings to you of the sweet, sweet song of your towheaded little girl, parading and jumping in pools of water. The laughter and fun made so much more so by the drips and drizzles tantalizing your senses.

Humbling.

Storms are humbling.

They come, and they go. Sometimes, (thankfully) only leaving much needed water in their wake. Quenching the parched.

Other times, the storm rages quickly and fiercely, leaving chaos and destruction in her chosen path.

Still other times, the storm rains on in the most most mundane… No thunder, no light shows in the sky.

Oh, but she’s still boss. In case you forgot, it’s her you fear when your basement is flooding, or the river is getting too high, or when you’re driving at high speeds before skidding on Mother Nature’s rain puddle… I did that once. Did a full circle and came inches from running smack into a pole head on. Ask me what song was playing. Do it! Ask me. ” Mamaaaaaaaaa, oooooh. I don’t wanna die.” That’s right, folks, Bohemian Rhapsody. Mother has a sense of humor.

She demands respects, and she gets it. If you don’t listen to her warnings, well, then that makes you not very bright. She won’t be grumbling about how her little duckling’s listening ears were compromised, so just settle your ruffled feathers and, “Carry onnnnn, carry on.”. 😉

She’s ruthless, but she’s steady. She’s calming and desired. Needed. And she just doesn’t give a fuck!

“Nothing really matters to meeeeee.”

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Experimenting with Spoken Word

If you found out tonight I had stage 4 cancer, what would you say? How would you feel? Would you regret what you had said or not said? Would your feelings bring forth a change in you? In me? In us? Would you be driven to act, rather than ponder?

Would you forgive?

If you found out tonight I’d died out there, on the snow covered ground amidst this freezing weather, would it make you stop? Would your heart stutter? Would your eyes leak? Would you fret? Regret? Be upset?

If you found out tonight, you could feel what I feel, and know what I know, would you only then reach out? Would you take my hand? Would you dismiss your fears and quiet my tears, and fully, genuinely embrace me? With all of my aptitude, presence and strengths? With all of my demons, shadows, and angst?

Share laughter with me. Share anger and love and spiral with me. I double dog dare you to be honest with me.

I’m an animal. A beautiful expression of said perfection. A sorrowful heap of human reflection. I’m flawed. I’m real. I feel both joy and pain. I have highs and lows. Feel madness and sane.

I’m invincible, but I’m not.