Sunday Blog Share: The Evolution of Mom

The Evolution of Mom

By Bridget of The Happy Quitter

Perhaps I shouldn’t be the one posting this since I am not a mother, but then on the other hand maybe that’s precisely the reason why I should post it because I watched all my friends go through all the different stages. I am a witness, this all is true!

The Evolution of Mom

Parenthood changes with each baby. Here, some of the ways having a second and third child differ from having your first:

Your Clothes

1st baby: You begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your OB/GYN confirms your pregnancy.

2nd baby: You wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.

3rd baby: Your maternity clothes are your regular clothes.

The Baby’s Name

1st baby: You pore over baby-name books and practice pronouncing and writing combinations of all your favorites.

2nd baby: Someone has to name their kid after your great-aunt Mavis, right? It might as well be you.

3rd baby: You open a name book, close your eyes, and see where your finger falls. Bimaldo? Perfect!

Preparing for the Birth…

(Continue Reading: The Evolution of Mom)

Aunt Agnes and the Accidental Invasion

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Aunt Agnes and the Accidental Invasion

By L.T. Garvin

It all started when Ilene Wilson showed up at Dominoes Club saying that her husband, Ralph, had been taken away by an Accidental Invasion.

“I have never heard tell of such!” exclaimed Aunt Agnes, giving me a sharp look over her dominos. Aunt Agnes had been worried about our neighbor, Ilene, ever since she found out she had been taking Nervous Pills, you know, for her nerves and all.

“I think those things have got her,” Aunt Agnes whispered to me as I put a domino on the table.

Ilene and Ralph had been our neighbors now for goin’ on four years. Truthfully, I was pretty sure I had seen Ralph slip out of the building a few times getting on the casino bus going over to Oklahoma to gamble. Ilene would have skinned him alive if she knew he was over there wasting money…

(Continue Reading: Aunt Agnes and the Accidental Invasion)

Teen Angst Poem Challenge

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Ali Isaac and Sarah Brentyn challenged each other (and then everyone else) to post a teenage angst poem. I have a bunch of those!

I was about 17 when I wrote this. It’s the most cringe-worthy I could find. Feel free to groan.

Surrender

Surrender I would
and let the waves of you
wash over me
gaping wounds filled
with pools of serenity
I dream your hands on my face
in tenderness unbearable
despair
I weep for all the lost
and left behind
I have not finished
with the anguish
with you a tormentor for a lover
my struggle is not won
would you be my new battleground
The answer lies through the loneliness
I can not surrender
the suffering

Note: Oh boy, I was a miserable kid. Just goes to show, there’s hope.

If you take up the challenge, tag your poem #teenangstpoem

 

I love THAT

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For the past few months, I’ve been engaged in the writerly task of editing four books. I do this full-time for about 14 hours a day, divvying the tasks up into four categories: 1) borderline boring, 2) terribly tedious, 3) downright dreary, and 4) mega mind-numbing. That way I can mix them up for a little variety.

One of the editing passes that I undertake is the arduous process of “enlivening my words.” I use the search function on Word to look up dull words and one by one swap them out for more interesting ones. At the tippity-top of the humdrum list is “was.” An exceedingly handy verb but not a writer’s best friend. I allow myself an average of one “wuz” per page. This means looking up about 600 wuzzes and switching 300 of them out. For 4 books, I’ll comb through approximately 2,400 wuzzes.  Ack!

I have 33 wimpy, weak, crutch words that I put through this process, none as dreadful as “was” though “had” ranks right up there in second place. It takes forever.

I’ve completed all my swaps except for the last – Word #33: THAT.

For some reason that I can’t explain, I just love that word. I could write that word in every sentence that I write. And that’s a problem. Plus that’s a word that’s hard to replace without completely changing the way that a sentence is written. I know that other writers can figure that out without that much trouble, but that’s easier said than done. For me, that’s an editing step that takes tons of time that I could use to make other changes that would improve my work.

Good Grief. Ha ha.

Okay, I gotta cut this out so I can cut that out. Wish me luck – only about 3,000 to go.

Flame #writephoto

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Thanks to Sue Vincent of The Daily Echo for her Thursday #writephoto prompt.

Going Hungry

“Eat your dinner.” Mogreth’s father wagged a half-eaten leg bone at the meat sizzling on the flames.

“I’m not hungry.” Mogreth slumped on the log bench.

“Your mother’s testing a new marinade. The least you can do is try it.”

Mogreth watched his mother gnaw on a thigh bone. Last night, she cooked a rump roast that his father gobbled without taking a breath. Tomorrow, she would probably grill ribs slathered in fat. Maybe stir up a meaty stew with grisly leftovers and giblets. Mogreth wrinkled his nose at the thought. “Why can’t we steam some broccoli or cauliflower?”

“Vegetables are horrible for your health,” his mother said. “Have you ever considered the havoc they wreak on your digestion?”

“Disgusting,” his father muttered and tossed the bone over his shoulder into the growing pile.

“I could grow my own,” Mogreth pleaded. “I found the perfect spot for a garden.”

His parents sighed with weariness, exhausted by his perpetual nagging. But he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t like other teenagers with their bristly hair and yellow, stumpy teeth. His room was immaculate, clothes pressed, shoes polished to a spiffy nut-brown. He studied books on horticulture and nutrition, his thick fingers gliding over the glossy pictures. If he had his druthers, he’d spend his days digging in the soil, pockets bulging with seed packets and dreams brimming with the perfect zucchini.

He stared into the fire. No one understood his longing, his peers least of all. They preferred exploring caves, stomping on small animals, and clubbing villagers, a divergence in tastes that made him a prime target for teasing.

“You really should try this.” His father beckoned to his mother for another crispy morsel. “The sauce adds just the right amount of zing. Clears the sinuses. Nothing like food roasted over an open flame.”

Mogreth’s mother giggled at the compliment. “Don’t wait too long or your father’s going to suck the meat off that last bone.”

“Help yourself.” Mogreth waved a gloomy hand at the charred meat. He might be a troll, but the whole idea of munching on villagers disgusted him. He’d rather go hungry.

A bit of silliness since I’m in an editing fog.

Thanks for reading!

Sunday Blog Share: 30 Fun Things to Say to a Complete Stranger on an Elevator

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30 Fun Things to Say to a Complete Stranger on an Elevator

by Brian Lageose

1. Thank you for choosing to fly with us today.

2. You know, it’s proper etiquette that you knock before you just barge in here.

3. What are your thoughts on public nudity?

4. Did you know that serial killers really like to push buttons that light up?

5. I don’t understand why it’s never the right floor when the doors open.

6. Because I’m free. Free as I’ll ever be.

7. Will you be my Facebook friend?

8. I couldn’t help but noticing that both of your shoes are the same color.

9. I sure hope the oxygen masks work this time.

10. If you stop on every floor, you get a candy bar.

11. We go together, like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong. We sure do.

12. I would have taken the stairs, but Jesus told me I shouldn’t. Not today.

14. Would you like the rest of my bagel?

15. If the elevator falls, and you jump at just the right time, you won’t get hurt.

(Continue Laughing: 30 Fun Things to Say to a Complete Stranger on an Elevator)

My Holidays Limerick

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My Holidays Limerick

A cold has me stuffed in the sack
How I sniffle, I sneeze and I hack
The laptop is dusty
Inspiration is fusty
Yet, it feels mighty grand to be back

Oh, the holiday season was fun
Though I’m gleeful the chaos is done
Bye family and friends
Eating fudge had to end
Or we’d all end up weighing a ton

Saint Nick wanted cookies this year
And carrots to feed his reindeer
But Grampy was fast
The treats didn’t last
No cookies for Santa, I fear

You might get a laugh or a shock
To hear we got mittens and socks
A boy named Tornado
Got Legos and Play-Dough
All wrapped in a colorful box

New Years was dreadfully lame
No fireworks bursting in flame
No bubbly or wine
I was snoring by nine
All sickly and achy and tame

The blog suffered scarcely a peek
Between games of hide-and-go-seek
I was tempted to read
But the days passed with speed
And they rapidly turned to weeks!

No, I didn’t prep one single post
of which I can merrily boast
I finished draft two
A feat that will do
Now to blogging or my butt is toast

To my pals in the wide blogosphere
I wish you world peace and good cheer
The blessings of health
In friendship great wealth
And a bountiful, happy new year

This poem was inspired by cough medicine that made me a little loopy. I pre-scheduled it for JUNE and wondered why it didn’t post this morning.

I have a ton of catching up to do! It’s going to take me a bit, but I’ll be over to say “hi” soon. 🙂

Tornado Boy

The Real Tornado Boy