To see the prompt (so you can write your own weird short story) and fiction that was created by me from that prompt skip to the 🤺🤺🤺🤺🤺🤺🤺 to read about how bizarre it is that I’m wildly more productive when my children are in the house stay to read the nonsense after the 💖💖💖
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(Thursday night. Written in the midst of a very good mood)
My children (they are 12 and 15, so more adolescents at this point) were away from my house for one full week. A week with no children. That never happens. Usually I have one or the other with only one full day off of parenting a week.
But this past week was March Break. And on Friday last week I sent a message to my youngest kid’s school to tell them he wouldn’t be returning but moving into a smaller school.
And then I asked their sweetheart of a Dad who lives in a city nearby, if he’d be ok taking both kids (usually the kids don’t like to be in the same house for too long) from Friday-Thursday so that I could help my friends who have a shop, and a cat who was in need of surgery and extra care.
He agreed and so. Seven days. No children.
It was WEIRD. I was more tired than usual. So I slept more. My partner and I went of adventures on the weekend.
And then I worked for three days. In a row. I drove 45 minutes to the darling place that I love. I worked seven hours. Then I drove home 45 minutes.
Monday was AMAZING, the wondrous cat survived her surgery and was in good (and gently grumpy) spirits, and I had spent most of my day just thinking really good thoughts in her direction.
I was exhausted and knew I’d be working the next day (usually I nap on Tuesday to restore my energy reserves from Monday) so my partner and I did a quick dinner and a delightful chill night in bed and watched Damsel (I have thoughts but I will not share them here). Then I went to sleep before midnight. That never happens. I am a night owl. After 10pm my brain is at its most awake and chatty.
I woke up and did it all over on Tuesday. And again. It was MAGICAL. I was less tired at the end of the day. But I asked my partner if we could have another chill night so as to not deplete my reserves for my last day of work. So we spent the night looking though hundreds of Art House Films on our Firestick thing/app/whatever and saying if we’d watched them, or would we watch them, or making fun of the ones that definitely have not aged well. Then we went to bed. Watched Extraordinary (I love it but it’s stressful!), Woltzed a bit (Woltzing is what we call playing Word Blitz, a game we have been playing nightly since I first moved back to Canada in 2018, because we were living long distance…for 2 and 1/4 years…and it became a bedtime habit, and it helps me fall asleep..so 6 years?) Then sleep.
Wednesday. I got up. Took my dog for a walk. Got her to eat (miraculously) and then did the same thing. And I know that this is just how work is for normal people. I used to work six days a week. And then coordinate events. And then have time for a social life. And then parent all day. I slept three hours a night for YEARS. I got a lot of things done. And I didn’t do drugs to keep me up. I just drank tea. And some coffee. I fit three lives into that decade of life.
And then at 42 I had a stroke. (BECAUSE LOOK AT WHAT I WAS DOING?! My “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” pace it nearly killed me)
Back to my no-parenting week.
Mostly I worked, I wrote, I spent time with my partner and my dog and I SLEPT.
And I did it! I worked three days. And I looked after myself. I’m impressed with myself. Because I still have that “GO,GO,GO…WHY AREN’T YOU DOING MORE!!!” part of me always trying to make feel bad about resting. Thankfully they aren’t in charge anymore.
Today (Thursday) I had to pick up my kids from the city. I always had to go to my youngest’s school, drop off his computer and do the paperwork (my kryptonite) to transfer him to a different school.
I slept in until 9am. I got up. Packed the computer. Put on a ridiculous outfit, because I refuse to conform to parenting standards. My elderly neighbour yelled at me that is was too cold for what I was wearing (now this isn’t a sexy short shirt outfit, but a polka-dotted cotton dress with pockets, a long sleeved shirt with two giant screen printed moths, and knee high socks with angry emu upon them. It’s a ‘I’m a badass but a weird one’ outfit.)…and she was right. It’s spring but it’s effing cold.
And I went to the school with the reward that I’d get to go to the farmer’s market if I managed not to cry if the administrators asked why I was removing my kid (he would not eat during school because the cafeteria was overwhelming which led to after school meltdowns, and just general malaise and surprise surprise, the inability to learn or make friends).
I DID NOT CRY. (If I had that would have been ok, and warranted because removing one’s child from a school he hasn’t eaten at since he began…that’s stressful)
Because the administrators in the office were like…super genuinely kind, and got my pronouns right, and didn’t fight me on knowing what was right for my kid.
WHAT?!
That whole interaction lifted me up.
I went to the farmers market. I talked to my favourite vendors.
I ate a delicious wrap from a wondrous cook at the market.
I went home, walked my dog, fed her, and then my partner came down for a chat…and it started to SNOW. (Definitely too cold for what I was wearing) BUT it only lasted for a minute. One minute of snow.
So I got in my car. Drove an hour to pick up my kids. Chatted with their Dad. Drive home an hour. Walked my dog again.
Then my youngest and I painted some furniture with my partner. Then we rewrote a book we’d written this summer so he can illustrate it, and we went through it page by page to makes notes on what he could draw. (He is a remarkably good listener when he’s interested in a project, and he loves this book we wrote)
THEN. My eldest wanted to go get snacks, in the town 29 minutes away, so we could also for a walk at the sports centre.
SO WE DID. And it was really really great. The kids got along. I told them a hilarious (but potentially dangerous) tale from my adolescence that I’d been saving for a rainy day and they assured me they would never make the terrible mistakes that I’d made in my youth because they were better aware of the dangers. Which they are. Because I’m their parent.
And now. I’m home. My dog is fed. My children are chatting virtually with their friends.
And I’m supposed to be making dinner. Which I which I will just after I finish writing this.
(Oh and! One of my favourite newsletter writers from this space was doing a Q&A and I wrote how much he’s inspired me in just the last week, and he wrote such a genuine and kind response that it buoyed my heart, and made me feel like I am definitely finding the kind of community I need to encourage my writing…again. I’ve been so lucky to find community after community in which to do what I love, and I will never not be grateful for the humans who welcome, or want to do this alongside me).
My partner just texted me something interesting about colons (the punctuation not the organ) and I have to go kiss them, because they are AMAZING.
The text. A headline from a major news organization. 🫢
I’ll write on the actual prompt at some point. I have to go giggle.
Heart,
Wake
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This week is all about fiction writing! My past self set out three prompts per short story. Character, genre, object. I’m going to set a time for 7 minutes so I don’t take myself too seriously. Feel free to do what feels best for you. 💖
Today’s prompts are:
Angry toddler, literary fiction, fence
(Written at 5:37am after my pup woke up howling about the neighbours…and this story is sadder than I expected. Because the world is full of grief, and my heart has been holding it, but my brain has not been processing it. I did not set an alarm. I wrote in soft italics so as to not wake my partner or the household. My dog is now quiet at the bottom of the bed. It is dark still and the time is 6:27am)
The morning was beautiful, in an unmanageable sort of way. The sun was shining a pale clear light on the back garden. The air was crisp like a royal gala apple. Madeline’s hair was done up in a messy sort of bun on the top of her head and her hand were covered in dirt. She raised one of those hands to her face and wiped away a tear that had begun travelling down her cheek. It left a streak of mud where the frustration had shown up. An ornate blue container sat next to her. A hole in the garden in front on her.
Edward, her twenty-seven month old, was sitting exhausted in the hyper short grass. Madeline had mown it early that morning, much to the dismay of her elderly neighbours. She cut the grass so short it could have joined the military. Buzzed to avoid having to cut it again. After the incident she had bought a loud electric gas-powered beast.
Madeline’s hated having a lawn. Theo had insisted they get a cute house, with a fence and four garden boxes. Mowing between those boxes was a right nightmare. Theo hadn’t cared. He would hum Beatles songs about love as he guided the push mower deftly through the rows. He would often pause to look up at her watching him through the kitchen window. He’d had a glow about him. A glow that had illuminated her world. Madeline had a glow too, then.
Edward was crying. His voice ragged and edged like a rusty rake. He’d been screaming half the morning. Running into the fence repeatedly as if he could somehow escape the emotions that plagued his mother. She hadn’t said a word to him since that solemn other yard full of smooths stones his height, placed just so. Full of people wearing black costumes and crying.
He had played in the dirt there, next to his mother’s feet. He had spent the morning looking for his Daddy. But his mother had only shown him a jar full of dark dust.
Theo slumped against the fence.
Madeleine open the jar of ashes and poured them into the garden.
She stood up with sudden determination and went to sit with Theo. She leaned against the fence next to him. He crawled into her lap.
Madeline held her boy tight, the prickling grass under her; the beautiful day impervious to their loss.