This slice is part of the March Slice of Life Challenge on Two Writing Teachers! #sol26. I’m slicing every day in March. Thanks for stopping by!
We are at the beach. We are busying ourselves here at the beach. Trying hard to think only positive thoughts about our Finn. Watched a funny movie all snuggled in my bed last night. Worked out this morning, then the pool. In between we sat in the sun of the rental’s backyard. I told the kids to pretend for a minute that they believe in intention setting and energy. We sat and just thought about Finn. We imagined ourselves next to him in his doggy hospital bed. We imagined seeing him healthy in a few days, wagging his tail like nothing had happened. I can’t speak for the kids, but I imagined petting his soft soft ears. And I told him very lovingly but sternly that the people he is with are taking care of him. He might not be having fun but he needs to do everything they tell him to do, and then we will see him soon. After he gets better, he can run around and play with his best friend. His best friend’s person visited him today. He wagged his tail so hard his bandage flung across the room. She snuggled him and pet his soft, soft ears. She told him that the people he is with are taking care of him. She told him he can come play as soon as he’s all better. We spent the last few hours on the sand. The kids took a walk. I read. I gazed at the turquoise water. I told the little birds that landed next to me to please send some prayers to Finn. We are at the beach. I kept repeating it to myself. We are at the beach. We are at the beach.
This slice is part of the March Slice of Life Challenge on Two Writing Teachers! #sol26. I’m slicing every day in March. Thanks for stopping by!
I’ve been made fun of for a lot of things in my life. This isn’t a sob story – I mean, obviously it has made me who I am today. Character and all that.
But, it is probably the reason why when my kids make fun of me …
I don’t really care.
I mean, so what if I talk to strangers when we are out?
Even the ones who are in the golf cart behind me as I try to figure out what I’m supposed to do if the parking lot ahead of me is full, and I don’t really know where to go in our golf cart at the moment.
“Sorry!” I yelled from my golf cart to theirs.
“It’s my first time! Here and in one of these things! And I’m not sure where to go next!
They yelled back to me, assuring me they were in the same boat (or cart, I guess) as me.
It felt like a friendly interaction, but boy oh boy were the kids annoyed. One of them claims that my speaking to strangers is damaging to them.
I think maybe since they don’t get made fun of as much as I did as a kid, I owe some embarrassment to them to help build their character…
I am glad they had already gone down to the beach though, when I was finally parking. I thought there was a spot, but it was a handicap spot. Just as I was figuring out how to turn the golf cart around, a man walked by and said, “I’m about to take my cart out of this spot if you are looking for a spot!”
And what did I say? Nothing crazy. It was a perfectly normal response.
I said, “Oh my god. I love you. Thank you.”
He was fine with it, laughed and said “You’re welcome.”
But the kids? they would have been devastated to hear me proclaim my love to the stranger who gave me his parking spot. It might have ruined this vacation I’ve taken them on.
This slice is part of the March Slice of Life Challenge on Two Writing Teachers! #sol26. I’m slicing every day in March. Thanks for stopping by!
Yesterday we were making dinner when the garbage disposal stopped working. It just hummed a little hum, not a care in the world. I looked at my daughter and I think she saw the absolute “no effing way,” in my face.
“Is it bad if we say this is an after spring break problem?” she asked.
“Nope. That’s what it is,” I said, “an after spring break problem.“
But I fiddled with it anyway, tried the little reset button on the bottom. But, it still just hummed its little hum.
So after checking multiple times that the switch was off, I stuck my hand in there and quickly realized the problem. There was a glass wedged in, unmovable.
She stuck her hand in too. (After checking that the switch was off. Why are garbage disposals so scary?)
“How are we going to get this out?” She said.
There was no way to get that glass out. It was perfectly stuck.
“Not to be misogynistic or anything…” she started saying, “but isn’t this where we maybe…”
I started wondering who you call and what they would do.
“I guess we pay someone to fix it.” I said with absolute disdain. I mean, what would they do? Take the whole thing apart? Hundreds of dollars later they would have the glass and my disposal would work again?
“Or…” I said as I picked up the nearby ruler that I had finally brought inside from when it was measuring our latest snowfall.
I stabbed the ruler into the disposal a few times, broke that glass, and took out all the pieces.
I made sure all the glass was out, rinsed out the sink and turned on the disposal and heard the tell tale working whirr.
Fixed!
“No men needed!” My daughter said.
“No men and no money!” I agreed. “That’s a life lesson I want you to remember. You don’t need men or money.”
Then we laughed and finished making dinner.
**Yes, next time I’ll turn the actual power to the kitchen off. Yikes.”
This slice is part of the March Slice of Life Challenge on Two Writing Teachers! #sol26. I’m slicing every day in March. Thanks for stopping by!
Sometimes my dog looks like Falkor from Never Ending Story. Hear me out. He might be black and grey, not white and pink… I get it. Finn is not technically a luck dragon. But, it’s all there, in his face.
Every so often one of us reminds the rest of us about this. Okay, it’s usually me reminding the kids. But, recently it was my daughter, reminding me. We looked at him, as he lay forlornly under the kitchen table, in what seemed to be the exact way Falkor rested. Waiting. Wise.
I asked him if he was really Falkor in disguise and he started wagging his tail. I started singing The Never Ending story to him and he quickly got up, stretched, walked over to me and leaned against my leg. This worked several times. I have a witness.
“The never ending stoooorrry…. Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah…” Tail wag. Saunter over. Lean in.
However. When my 16 year old came home that very night, and I said, “Watch this! The never ending stoooorrry…. Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah…”
Finn just continued to nest himself into the couch.
“This is embarrassing for you,” my son said. And I kept singing, “The Never Ending story…” “Oh mom. This is so embarrassing. For you.”
“I’m not embarrassed.” I told him, in between “ah-ah-ah-ah’s.”
“It’s really embarrassing for you.” he insisted.
I tried to tell him that you can’t tell someone that they are embarrassed.
But, he’s sixteen, and there’s really no point.
He is very committed to the story that I am constantly embarrassed, and embarrassing.
In fact, you could say, it’s a never ending story. Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah…
Part of Slice of Life Tuesday Slices on Two Writing Teachers! Join in and write on Tuesdays!
the other day there was a facebook memory where I was half complaining about the constant rocking and nursing of a baby in the middle of the night, and half knowing that “one day I will miss this.” you know, I was right. I do miss that. so many things to miss, you know? toddlers with sticky fingers loud days snuggling first days of elementary school even those times when I had to help 3 kids in 3 different schools, in 3 different grades do homework while I taught remotely have taken on a sort of sentimental quality (okay, I don’t miss 2020, but you know what I mean) all those long days make short years and there are just so many things to miss now but I think I’m ready to go on record to officially say that in 6 years when I no longer have to do it anymore I will NOT miss filling out the FAFSA and doing financial aid paperwork at all.
Part of Slice of Life Tuesday Slices on Two Writing Teachers! Join in and write on Tuesdays!
I took my son back to school tonight — fall break is over. We talked about egoism and empathy for most of the trip. But, with five minutes of the ride left, I gave him some reminders. I think he really appreciated my sound bites of advice. 18 year-olds usually do. “I get a hug!” I said, as we pulled into the parking lot, and he said, “Okay, but it has to before I grab all my stuff.” Spoiler alert: I gave him one hug before and one after. Plus, as he crossed the street, I yelled, ”Goodbye! I love you!” And he said it return. I win! I drove back, betrayed Sheetz for a Wawa coffee stop — which I like better, I have to admit, Wawa coffee. Maybe it’s nostalgia, I don’t know. Now I’m home, in time for bed. I’m hoping the melatonin wins against the coffee on this school night.
22 is one more than 21 that big important birthday everyone gets all excited about but you don’t even really like to drink you’d rather make tea which you keep adding bags and more water to for hours before heading off to bed
22 is 2 elevens which is, you know middle school not anyone’s finest hour, but somehow you were still you not still the quiet preschooler, not yet the confident young woman just sweet enough to get away with the snippy of early adolescence
22 is 11 twos two they call terrible but you were mostly just the most adorable you could ever imagine with those cute red stripes on your pajamas and the curl of your hair your voice figuring out all the words and you already loving to draw and make playdoh creations mostly with Granny You did always want a banana as a bed time snack, which you wanted to peel yourself, but couldn’t. “Nin nana!” You would demand. You called yourself Nin. I guess I remember a few terrible tantrums about that. I used to try to sneak help you – digging my nail into the place right under the banana stem and praying you didn’t notice You mostly noticed. Like you noticed if I started to fall asleep reading about Charlie Mouse in the Richard Scary book we read every night. “You made a mistake!” You’d laugh at me, and for some reason that became a demand for the book. You wanted me to make a mistake, or the book wasn’t worth reading anymore.
22 is 22 ones when you were one you toddled around nursed to sleep each night probably waking up a lot – remember you were a backwards sleeping baby Slept through the night until 4 months or so, and then never again as a baby you talked somewhere I have a list of all the words you said at that age ”mo,” when you wanted more, and at some point that year you started calling grapes “erdeps.” “Nin, mo erdeps?”
22 is 1 twenty-two Makes no sense because you were just a baby doing that baby elbow stretch in your zip up pajamas attached to me all day and now you are this actual grown up a friend who makes me tea and makes me proud
Part of Slice of Life Tuesday Slices on Two Writing Teachers! Join in and write on Tuesdays!
They filled the vases with tulips, red, orange, yellow, bright Her favorite flowers, of course they bloomed in spring The bouquets now brought a sort of comfort to the night
There were candles, too, flickering a calming light Pictures laid on tables, memories of everything They filled the vases with tulips, red, orange, yellow, bright
Tall candlesticks she painted, colorful with height People in a line, hoping company could lessen the sting The bouquets now brought a sort of comfort to the night
Her favorite orange, in tulips signify a zest for life And she would want us to wear joy, not a mourning ring They filled the vases with tulips, red, orange, yellow, bright
Tulips are for those you love with all your might For husbands, wives, siblings and offspring The bouquets now brought a sort of comfort to the night
Tulips lined the funeral home, to remind all to delight Grieving loved ones swirled out the door, her life celebrating They filled the vases with tulips, red, orange, yellow, bright The bouquets now brought a sort of comfort to the night
It’s April, so I’m writing. Today from an EthicalELA prompt from a few days ago: Villanelle on the Vine It’s not perfect, but it’s my first Villanelle. And since I grew up with Mary as my second mom, mom of my best friend, and I can remember her telling me my drawings didn’t need to be perfect, I think she would be okay with me just giving this a solid try.
Depending on when you met me I’ve been a daughter, a sister, a friend a girlfriend, a wife – until that came to an end I’ve been a mother, now I’ll always be one
Depending on when you met me I might have been a new mom, a mom of 1 or 2 or 3 A mom of young kids, home on family rearing leave, or teaching, somehow teaching with babies at home. If you didn’t meet me then, you wouldn’t have known – My kids used to love to hang out with me, before they were grown
Depending on when you met me? I mean, wow. Me? I’ve been a babysitter, a daycare worker, a teacher, of course a coach. until that came to an end then a teacher again somewhere in there my kids grew up and my husband betrayed me
Depending on when you met me I might have been crying a lot or laughing a lot writing a lot I bet you want more details Depending on when you met me
This slice is part of of the March Slice of Life Challenge on Two Writing Teachers! #sol25. I’m slicing every day in March. Thanks for stopping by!
I woke up around 5:45, and realized I was hearing my son taking out the garbage. At first I was sure this must have meant he never went to bed. A bunch of guys were over last night, and they didn’t have school today, so whatever.
But when I went downstairs and asked him, he said, “Nope. I told you I’d wake up at normal time and take out the trash. So I did.”
He even took all the trash out of the old trash can to put in the new trash can.
Yea. We have new trash cans, a new trash service actually, and it’s been a lot of drama about this new refuse collection. To be honest, it’s been annoying. A new service so you need a new trash can, and they promise it’s cheaper, but it doesn’t seem like that. And oh, you have to choose which trash can you want based on size. If you don’t choose, the large bin will be assigned to you. Your bill will be dependent on what bin size you choose, but you should probably get the big one anyway because anything outside of the trash can is going to cost extra, and by the way no more bulk trash, but you can get something extra picked up 4 times a year. But wait, is that four times or four things. And by the way don’t put your trash can out until the April 1st weekly collection but we will deliver it way earlier than that.
As I drove away this morning, I laughed to myself about all the drama of these stupid trash cans.
I texted my neighbor when I came home a month or so ago and saw the trash can had been dropped off in my driveway. It was confusing because I had just too many trash cans.
“Are we supposed to put these out?”
She sent me a picture of the tag which I hadn’t really read. Use it April 1st. Not before.
Okay. I will follow directions. So I stored the new trash can until today.
If I hadn’t been rushing this morning I would have stopped to take a picture of my new trash can on its first day at work. I thought about the funny signs I could have it hold up.
When I got home after school, I started to take my new trash can back in the garage, noticing that my son had already put the old trash can away, leaving space for the new trash can. I wondered if the new giant trash can would fit where the old one fit. I wondered when I could stop thinking about this stupid new trash can.
Then I realized it was still full.
I texted my neighbor.
“Did they pick up your trash?”
And then like a movie montage, I figured it out.
It’s March 31. The old trash truck came and wouldn’t pick up the new bin. The new trash truck doesn’t come until next week, after April 1, so no. . . it is not yet time to stop thinking about this new trash can drama.
I took the dog for a walk and noticed other people had the new trash cans out. I’m glad to not be so alone in my embarrassment.
Lucky for me when I checked the mail, I got the bill for the new trash collection, and an included flyer that reminded me to Begin to use your new cart on Tuesday, April 1. Do not use your cart before then.
On a Thought 