Just For Her...

  

She hugs my legs for just a moment and then runs out of my sight. She hasn't gone far because I can hear the patter of her bare feet accompanying her hysterical giggle. No more than ten seconds will pass and she will be back. I know this game so I sit cross legged on the floor and wait for her. Her chubby legs toddle her back to my waiting arms and she smiles in satisfaction that she was right...I was there waiting for her. We do this dozens of times in a row and no matter where she goes, I wait until she comes back. 

Hugs, giggles, kisses and smiles; waiting just for her.

It's a game, but it's not. 

She's testing to see if I will always be there when she comes back. She's learning that she can exist without me.

Every time she goes off on an adventure, her feet take her a little farther than before. The dining room, the living room and an attempt to tackle the stairs; each place is more distant than the last and she looks back a little less than before.

Kindergarten, High School, First Car, First Date, College, Marriage and an attempt to tackle this life. Each place will be more distant than the last and she will look back a little less each time.

She will learn that she can exist without me, but she'll always know that I will be here waiting for her when she returns.

Hugs, giggles, kisses and smiles; waiting just for her.

Detoured

Red Writing Hood - Detour

This week's prompt asked you to write a piece - fiction or non-fiction - in which you or your character take a detour.

There would be screaming, panic, wailing and gnashing of teeth. Total pandemonium. Only I held the power to calm the masses.


“Where is that stupid flashlight?”


Wide eyes; three pair of them; followed my every move. Tension hung in the air much thicker than the electricity coming from the approaching storm.


“Ahh...here is it!”


I held the sacred light above my head and clicked the button to show my children that Mommy was every bit of “The Light Goddess That Chases Away Storm Fear” that they had built me up to be.

Nothing. Not even a promising flicker of a bad connection.


“Probably needs batteries. Oh well, come on Lady Troop. Let’s go get the batteries out of my closet”


“Momma, can I have some juice first?”


I laid the flashlight down and grabbed the waving sippy cup from the dancing three year old. Filled with juice and released back the clogging and pirouetting Princess, two more sets of empty cups were shoved towards me before I could even blink. Reaching back into the fridge, I realized the carton was empty. I rushed to the pantry to grab another juice, before chaos could set in. Immediately I was anointed the “Goddess of the Liquid Orchard” by “The Sippy Cup Mafia” as I filled up the rest of the cups.


Heading to the closet I snapped a misplaced Lego in half between my toes and became known as “The One That Uses Daddy Words”. I began to pick up the Mattel and Tyco landmines and realized that one was stuck firmly to the wood floor by “I-probably-don’t-want-to-know” stuff. I ran back to the pantry and grabbed the mop. This delighted “Those Who Like To Ice Skate In Socked Feet.”


“Momma, the baby’s butt stanks.”


Childish giggling followed me in another trip to the pantry, this time for diapers. When I returned I found a hunkered baby with a mischievous “guess what I did” smile waiting for me.


“Whoa girl!!! That is some serious stank”


More giggling could be heard behind me as I deftly changed the baby’s diaper in my usual 4.3 seconds flat, a skill I have developed from changing diapers for the past five years. From a seated position a good nine foot away, I banked the diaper off the lid and with a winning 3 pointer in the can. Just another talent I’ve achieved in the past five years. Applause and cheers flooded my ears as the children celebrated another victory.
 

“Alright my little minions...to the closet. CHARGE!!”


Like a mother duck followed by her waddling ducklings, my sippy cup sucking troop made their way with me to my room.  “The Closet” was a magical place that transformed them into little mothers or “Ladies Of The Tu-Tu And Tea Society”, but strictly forbidden by “She Who Has Cool Purses And Shoes”. The siren call of fancy sandals and sequined clutches forced them to venture into “The Closet” at least 4 times a day; the penalty of entry worth the cost of accessorising in the name of fashion.


I reached out to flick the switch.  


The bulb blew, plunging us into darkness.


“Dangit...we are going to need a flashlight!”


I sprinted to the kitchen. Hurdling and skipping over the mess that never got cleaned up, I slipped on the wet floor and executed a perfect swan move reserved for only the most professional “Socked Feet Skaters”. I chastised myself for somehow getting detoured and creating such a hazardous condition for myself. I snatched the flashlight from the counter and clicked the switch.  


Nothing.


“Where are those stupid batteries?”

**Many thanks this week to my fab writing partners who helped me maneuver through this piece. Thanks for all you did!!!