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:
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.
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