Nanowrimo 2013 day 15

My MC mom is giving to the principal and assistant principal. They aren't telling her anything. She's on the way to the police to make a report. It won't help her (she doesn't know this) but it is a pleasure to write, let me tell you.

Scary is yet to come.

NaNoWriMo 2012 - Day 1

Kids are safely off to school. I watched a video on bullying and it crushed me a little. I had to watch comedian Tim Hawkins to revive my spirits and bolster my courage to face one of my greatest fears.

Writing in the past has been a fun outlet of a story that's been brewing for about 10 years. The one inside me now has been pestering me, no, goading me since the spring when my son had problems with bullying and shunning and deep, bitter loneliness. It is born of pain.

I have a delicious beef stew in my crockpot. I have someone coming over to talk about money. I have to walk my dog. I should be cleaning house but I needed to write the process.

I'm listening to Christian Celtic Music and something about it soothes my soul. It is sunny today, the first time in ages, and that will help me write the agony of ultimate defeat. Is not suicide defeat, the laying down of arms, saying, "I'm done playing this game." No, it has not happened in the inner circle of my family. Because of the darkness of the subject, I feel that I need to be much better about prayer this month; I will assume that this practice will help me after too.

Maybe it was "Be Thou My Vision" on flute and guitar that reminded me of St. Patrick's Lorica. I had only seen part of it but I read it this morning. I don't know if he actually wrote it. It doesn't matter. Maybe someone else wrote it and he treasured it and repeated it every day. As I type, I come against depression. I come against hopelessness. I come against the subtle darkness that creeps and slithers into a soul, finding the weak crease in the armor, the little pin hole. I come against time and thoughts deep in the night. I pray that God would protect my family, and me too. I pray with St. Patrick

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left
Christ where I lie, Christ where I sit, Christ where I arise
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Thrones,
Through confession of the Oneness
Towards the Creator.
Salvation is of the Lord
Salvation is of the Lord
Salvation is of Christ
May thy salvation, O Lord, be ever with us.

amen

Three Word Wednesday # 290

From Three Word Wednesday:

"I post three words. You write something using (3) words." 

~~~~

No Money Back

"Ok, time to get out of your seat, Chels." Mommy unbuckled her. She stretched and enjoyed the freedom from the pain of the straps. Then she jumped out of the car, away from the door. The door to the outdoor museum was just past the row of cars. Before she made a dash, Mommy grabbed her arm and said, "Chels, where are we?"

"In a parking lot." Chelsea sighed and leaned into her mother's arms. She heard the other car door slam shut and waited for Daddy to come around to her side.

 "That's right. Are parking lots playgrounds?"

 "No. Daddy pick me up." She held up her arms but her father shook his head.

 "No. Do we run in parking lots?" Her father did not smile.

 "No. We hold someone's hand and look both ways when we cross." Daddy held her hand while Mommy closed and lock the door. She liked when the car squeaked twice because she knew they would be going to the museum.

Once they were on the grass, Chelsea laughed as she kicked through the leaves. They were still soft and colorful and fell in slow waves, back and forth, to the ground. She picked up a pile and ran to her parents. They did not stand close to each other so when she threw the leaves on them, it wasn't enough. She picked up another pile and threw some on each on separately. It was harder work but she could still do it. They did not laugh like she expected and they did not throw leaves on her like she thought she remembered.

The museum had creaky wooden floors. There was a particular spot by the salamander cage that she liked to step on and off and on and off because it made a great squeaky noise. She laughed and waited for Mommy and Daddy to laugh and tell her to stop it. Today they did not and it took the joy out of it.  Their silence made her skip outside, down the steps and to the wooden fence by the pond. The sky was a pale gray so she did not have to squint her eyes from the sun. She climbed up the bottom fence post and expected her father to be there right behind her. He wasn't and Mommy wasn't close by either. Chelsea looked behind her and saw them walking toward her with sad faces. Maybe not sad, maybe angry, but not really; she knew, though, that they did not look happy.

"Let's go this way," and the little girl bounded away.

Chelsea ran down the path for a long time. She ran so long and so far that she could not see her parents behind her. The trees and the leaves which were so fun by the cars looked scary and unfamiliar. She called to her parents but did not hear their voice. She began to cry a little and ran back the way she came.
It seemed that she had run for hours when she saw her parents walking towards her. They did not seem the least concerned that she was crying or that she had missed them so much. She called her mother's name and as she ran she tripped over and landed face down on the ground. Her knee hurt and she was afraid because they were so far away. But then her mother was next to her hugging her and Daddy was brushing leaves off her Dora hoodie.

"Are you ok?" asked Mommy as she hugged her.

"I guess so," Chelsea said. Mommy wiped her face with a tissue and helped her blow her nose. Daddy walked over to where she had tripped and cleared away the leaves. Nestled under the leaves, a tree root stuck up in the ground, just enough.

"Sometimes there are things underneath the leaves. They make us trip. We didn't know that they were there," said Daddy. He picked leaves out of her hair. Chelsea lifted up her arms and her father carried her for a little while.

The autumn wind made her hands cold as she rested her head on his shoulder. She pushed away from him and he set her down. Her legs were itchy to run so she did but not too far this time. She picked up more leaves and threw them on her parents. This time they threw some back at her. She ran to them and walked in between, holding both their hands.

"Swing me," she said as she jumped. They only did once before they said something about her being too big. Then she giggled and put their hands together. She ran ahead and spun around as red and green and yellow and orange and brown fell over and around her. When she looked back she saw that they were not holding hands and her mother looked the other way. Chelsea stood there for a moment and stared. The trees and the leaves were strangers again and she felt lost, even though she could see Mommy and Daddy in front of her.

"Chelsea. Daddy and I, we have something--"Mommy looked to the left side of the path, away from Daddy. Her nose was red.

"Honey, I'm going to be living in a new place, away from you and Mommy." Daddy looked at Chelsea, hard, like he did when was watching the baseball game on television.

The only sound she heard for a moment was the wind in the treetops. They made a crackling noise, crunchy. Her parents seemed to be walking extra slow.

"How will you eat, Daddy?" she asked. She saw her mother laugh a little and blow her nose.

"It has a kitchen and a bedroom just for you," he said with a small smile.

She turned and walked. For a long time she kicked leaves and watched the path in front of her. She could hear her parents behind her as they stepped on the crunchy, soft path behind her. When they reached other duck pond, she knew that they were almost ready to go back to the car.

"Will you still love me?" Chelsea spun around to look at them. They did not look so much like Mommy and Daddy as they did just people, nameless people. Her mother bent down and took a huge pile of leaves. Her father looked at her mother and did the same thing.

"Totally love you," said her mother, with a red nose and still crying a little.

"One hundred percent love you," said Daddy, who poured leaves on her and picked up another pile. Her mother poured leaves on her and they smiled.

"Always. Without a doubt," said her mother.

"To the moon and back again," said her father.  Her parents did not look like strangers anymore, just sad. "How about you?"

Chelsea grabbed as many leaves as she could hold and threw them into the air.

"Absolutely, one hundred percent, no money back!"

 They fluttered down soft, red, green, yellow, orange and brown.

Carry On Tuesday # 173

This week we have as our prompt the first line of a poem by Charlotte Bronte's little sister Emily Jane.

A little while, a little while

Autumnal Tuesday Morning or

When Mom's had enough

The sun is up, Child 

 "A little while, little while" 

 Spray bottle sprays leg.

Sunday Scribblings # 337

The prompt for this week is: I understand.


Marge set a white Correlle plate plate on the blue and white plaid place mat. She folded the paper napkin in a neat rectangle, placed it on the left side of the plate. Fork on top of napkin. Knife and spoon on the right side. She checked the pan and it was hot enough for the scrambled eggs. The microwave timer gave the countdown for the sausages. Coffee gurgled in the pot.

Don sat down at the table in his white v-neck t-shirt and pajama bottoms. She said nothing. The eggs were almost ready. The timer went off. Coffee done and poured in a white cup. Eggs and sausage on white platter. Coffee cup brought to his place setting. The familiar clunk of the plate on their old formica table top. She rushed to the refrigerator and brought out the creamer.

She heard the neighbor children playing in the driveway next door. She smiled to herself and thought of happy memories when their children were small like them. She pulled in her chair and waited for him to go first.

"I haven't been working late, Marge."

"You'd better eat your eggs before they get cold." She rubbed her eyes and poured her coffee in her empty cup. She reveled the smell of her coffee.

"Marge. I don't even know how to begin." Don covered his face with his hands and drew them down, as if washing away the night.

"Did you not sleep well? Joe has to go to band practice at 10. Do you want me to give him a ride?"

"You've always been a good wife. You've always tried to do the right thing and I've enjoyed being married to you."

"I hope so. It's been twenty years of that." Marge smiled and sipped.

"You're a good, kind woman, Marge. It's just that. Well, we've fallen into a rut these past years. I don't know. Maybe it's so hard raising the kids. Maybe it's work. I don't know. But things need to change. I get up and go to work. Come home. Argue with Joe or Lizzy. Drive them somewhere. Come home. Fall asleep on the couch. It's so monotonous. Uninspired." Don lifted his coffee and drank a sip. He put it down and filled it with creamer, stirred vigorously.

The blood rushed out of her hands. This is the conversation that she had dreaded for her entire marriage. A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind. Where would she go? How would they tell the children? Who would be the one to leave the house first? When would they tell their folks?

"I haven't been working late, Marge. I lied to you and I'm sorry." Don stared at his empty plate. "I've been at the library."

Marge put down her cup on the edge of her plate. It flipped up. She gasped but her cup did not spill. Don rose up but sat down with a sigh. He took one of her cold hands into his own.

"I want to go skydiving."

"Skydiving."

"I've always wanted to do it and I've decided this is the year. I know we should be saving the money, but it's time. I can't live my life in a rut any longer. I need to open myself up to new things." Don kissed her hand and scraped a heaping of eggs on his plain white plate.

"I understand." Marge smiled and wrapped her cold hands around the warmth of her cup.

Sunday Scribblings - # 301 Normal

I think that for the potential emotional load, this is one of the most overlooked words in the English language.

What do you think of normal?

~~~~

Distractions

The teacher put him by the door in the front of the classroom on the end of the row and at the beginning of the first row. He liked it there because he was surrounded by girls and he could concentrate. But he managed to find something else to preoccupy his interest. His pencil. His itchy tag on his t-shirt collar. The blackboard. Anything could distract him from the lesson on fractions.

When he got into the lunch line, he was by himself. They were his buddies when they were younger. Now they couldn't even save a seat for him at their lunch table. At recess he walked around by himself, imagining himself to be the invisible kid or the chameleon kid, blending into the bricks of the building.

They used to talk to him and include him. Now he walked home alone.

Whatever happened to normal?

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