Thanks again Mama Kat for some food for writing-thought. This week’s prompts listed topics that I thought I could tackle, mostly.
1.) Describe what you would change about yourself if you could.
I know that the cat thought losing weight in winter was stupid, but last night my angelic-faced and brutally honest four-year-old, told me I was fat. Oh yes he did, and darn it, he is astute in his observations. I’m 5’3″, and when I met my husband I weighed 120 pounds. Fifteen years, and one c-section later, I weigh in at 147 pounds. Naturally, I don’t feel good about that, and having my son point it out to me made me feel so…much…BETTER. If I could afford to have the fat sucked out, I would, but I can’t, so, I forsee many salads, and much time spent on the treadmill. See item 3 below, I think it is going to take me a decade to lose 10 pounds.
2.) Book Review! What children’s book do you hate reading to your child?
(inspired by E. from Mommy’s Still Fabulous)
I secretly cringe whenever James asks me to read Love You Forever. It is a story about the love between a mother and son, raising a child, letting go of the child, and the inevitable reversal of roles. James thinks the story is cute, but I find it creepy and sad.
James loves the part when the toddler throws his Mom’s watch down the toilet. He would, I think he wants to give it a try. I do not love the Mom’s habit of crawling across the floor, then rocking and singing to her sleeping child. I’m all for rocking, but James has no interest, he doesn’t even want kisses (sad sniffle) so I don’t do that anymore. Normal. But this chick continues to do the crawl/rock routine, after her son is fully grown. She even crawls up a ladder an in through a window one night. Pre-meditated and not so normal. This woman clearly can’t let go and is stalking her son. People have been known to turn into wearers of coats made of human flesh because their mothers did obsessive stuff like this.
So after all the sneaking and rocking, the mother becomes old and infirm. The son returns the favor and then she dies, and he carries on the tradition with his own child. So naturally, after getting the willies, I usually start bawling when I get to the end, which James finds confusing. I’d much rather read Guess How Much I Love You? The story is sweet, and the drawings are cute.
3.) What do you predict will happen this decade? (You can be funny or serious if you like).
(inspired by Christopher from CaJoh)
See item 1 above. I also hope that the economy recovers, and housing prices rise again so that we aren’t under water on our house anymore. It would be nice if all this took less than 10 years. Pigs are just as likely to fly. I’m sorry to sound so negative, but it has been a crummy year that has left me with a gloomy outlook.
4.) Choose the 7th picture you took from last January and write a poem.
I didn’t take any pictures in January, and poetry really isn’t my thing, so I’m passing right on by this one. Woosh!
5.) Write about a heated argument you had with your parents (real or fictitious).
(inspired by Writer’s Digest)
This is true. The worst fight I ever had with my folks was over laundry. I’d like to think I hate doing it so much but I could just be lazy. Here is what happened. My parents sat me down one night to tell me that they planned to throw me out because I habitually left dirty clothes on the floor by my laundry basket. My Dad, his voice shaking with fury, told me that unless I shaped up pronto, the next time I came home, I’d find the locks changed and my stuff tossed out on the porch.
Now that I’m in charge of doing laundry in my own home I kind of see their point. But what I really took issue with, am still scratching my head over is, it wasn’t like I didn’t help out around the house by scrubbing bathrooms, weeding, washing the car, etc. I also got good grades, didn’t party EVER, and as a result didn’t hang out with the wrong crowd, or any crowd really. I generally stayed out of trouble. I knew other kids got in a lot of trouble: there were teen pregnancies, lots of drinking, and parents coming home to destroyed after weekends away. I thought a little laundry on the floor, inside my closet, that no one saw but Mom and me, wasn’t an offense worthy of throwing me out over. Naturally, I made a feeble attempt at self-defense, then promised to get with the program.
Looking back I think that laundry was just a euphemism for sex. I could be wrong, but I think that they were more upset about how much time I was spending with my boyfriend, and even more upset with the thought of what I might have been doing while spending time with him. That particular discussion would have been mortifying to all parties involved, so we discussed laundry instead. Regardless, the whole affair was pretty traumatic.
I have harboured a deep, dark hatred in my heart for laundry pretty much ever since. I love the smell of detergent, and fresh clean clothes. I will gladly throw clothes into the wash, but hate, hate, hate folding it and putting it away. I keep a pretty tidy home, but there are piles of laundry lurking in our bedroom. There is also dirty laundry on the floor by the laundry basket. Clearly threatening to throw me out did not have the long-lasting effect that my parents hoped for.