I’ve seen the six word memoir or six word story structure and have been wanting to give it a try. And yet, today, on this final day of SOLC as I reflect on the month, I struggle. How do you choose just six?
A Reflection Thirty-one Days, Slices, Glimpses into life My Children My children Vibrant and energy filled The Vacation Drill Vacation Plan, prep, pack Enjoy Undo Year-End April: the beginning of the end Laundry Beckoning daily Growing exponentially Unfathomable abyss Six Phrases Boy Mom Champion of stains Mender of never ending hole-y knees Tamer of brotherly battles Front row spectator of adventures, sports, and treasures galore Luckiest in the world I suppose settling for one isn’t necessary at all. Until next year…
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As we drive down the road today, “I Knew You Were Trouble” by Taylor Swift comes on the radio, and I am instantly transported to another car, on a very different trip, in what seems like a lifetime ago.
I’m 29, finishing up my 2nd year teaching abroad in Ecuador, and it’s Carnival, which means an amazing five day long weekend. If I close my eyes, I can remember this car ride as if it was yesterday. Ed is driving, because 6 months into owning my car, I still hadn’t bothered to get my license. (The hassle of the tramite that would likely take 2 days only to be told I still didn’t have the right documents seemed more of a bother than it was worth. As an incredibly obvious gringa, I had been told on numerous occasions that paying off the police would be much easier. Nevertheless, I was nervous about driving through the multiple checkpoints we’d encounter on the way to the beach, so Ed had offered to drive my car instead of riding with his wife.) Ed’s daughter, having been dubbed DJ of the trip, has her phone hooked up to the car’s stereo, and Taylor Swift’s “I Knew You Were Trouble” comes on. Windows rolled down, humid coastal air flowing through the car (encouraging my curls to reclaim my flat-ironed hair), steaming pan de yuca from the town we had just driven through practically scalding our hands, a star studded sky stretching as far as we can see, we belt out the chorus. The world is our oyster. We are free. Life is good. Sitting in the car today, I smile, reliving the warm air on my face despite the fact that it’s a rainy 50 degrees in Chicago today. I silently thank Taylor Swift for the vivid memory as my kids giggle at some joke in the back seat. I look at them in the rearview mirror and think, The world is our oyster. We are free. Life is good. One round and roll-y Alvin
One light-up-red-nosed Rudolf One sheep who is missing an eye Two narwhals One cheetah from Santa via the zoo Three taggies which have held on since infancy One bunny named Sprite One sea turtle and little turtle sidekick Five great plains animals (minus the teepee they came in) One wooly mammoth from a vacation to South Dakota One triceratops One sequenced snake One purple iridescent dragon named Colors One fuzzy cuicito from Ecuador One tiny kangaroo from a Happy Meal One plush 100 dollar bill One soft butterfly One gray Alaskan husky One small Chase-puppy One pillow that always ends up on the nightstand As I change sheets I wonder, How does one sleep like this? (Prompt: Look around and choose 4 things within 4 ft. of youand 4 minutes to write about them.)
The clock from Ecuador hangs on the wall, purely decorative as its colors obscure the placement of the hands from most angles making it impossible to actually tell time. Still, it makes me happy to see tres indigenas sitting in front of el volcano Chimborazo. The tiny hands of my toddler wriggle through the rungs of the back of my chair, tickling my back, always on a hunt to find something new to explore. The three baskets from a surprise Easter egg hunt from yesterday’s cycling friends reunion sit on the table, reminding me there’s tidying to be done on this first day of break. The venetian blinds slant down, light streaming through them, making this a very cheerful morning indeed. They make the dining room the warmest in the house when open and prevent the morning sun from blinding us every morning at breakfast when closed. *********************** Inspiration from Tammy at Tammy’s Reading Life. Grateful to be a teacher with the gift of spring break
Grateful for old friends that fit like a well worn pair of jeans Grateful for three boys - grass-stained knees, big emotions, brotherly love, and all Grateful for a husband who bathes children, cleans up dishes, folds laundry, tidied rooms, cleans bathrooms, who simply just pulls his weight Grateful for low-key reunions with friends from times gone by, who accept my tardiness and entourage in tow Grateful for a gliding chair, a baby that fights sleep, and the chance to sit and slow down Grateful for the promise of tomorrow, the chance to try again Grateful for this writing month of March, which forces me to don a writer’s lens, to examine each moment with precision, and to find something, anything, in each day A sick baby means
A runny nose A croupy cough A less-than stellar disposition A sick baby means A hard time sleeping A chance for extra cuddles Nuzzling face to neck A sick baby means A need for “Ma-ma-ma-ma” Coughing, coughing, coughing Vomit somehow inside my clothes Off to the shower we go When my youngest brother was in 5th or 6th grade, our high school went down state for something. It might have been track and field, but it could very well have been something else entirely. It must have been late spring, right before school was out, because it was a hot week. Going downstate was a big deal for our high school. It didn’t happen all the time as we were a small, private school. I didn’t go. I think I was in college at that point. Or maybe I was already working. The details of this story have faded, much like an old Polaroid whose subjects are somewhat blurry - you can see the big picture, but the details aren’t fully in focus.
I do remember that at some point that day, my brother found my mom and told her he couldn’t breathe. “I’m sure you’re fine, drink some water and stop running around.” A while later he returned, complaining that he really couldn’t breathe. She waved him off again. “It’s probably the heat. Go find some shade and cool off.” Like a gnat to a rotten banana, he came back. Slightly bothered, she pushed a $10 bill into his palm. “Go buy a gatorade. Drink it and let’s see if that helps.” It did not. He returned, gatorade in hand, visibly bothered, complaining again. Visibly annoyed (as parents who think their kids are exaggerating generally are), my mom brought him to a first aid stand, sure he was overheating. To her dismay, it turns out he was having an asthma attack and was getting a dangerously low level of oxygen. It’s a story she has never lived down. ************** Today at recess, I heard my name called, slightly more urgently than usual. It was the 5th grade boys playing basketball. They never, ever call me over. In fact, they had actually stopped their game. Not even the most competitive attempted a shot. “What’s up, guys?” I headed over. “Yeah, Brian* broke his hand, or maybe just his finger.” Still far enough away, I rolled my eyes. Dramatic, I thought. When I got closer, he stuck his hand out. His pinky finger bent up and then down with an unnatural crook in it. It was bright red. Not a kid to ever complain of an injury, I could tell it hurt. Brian tried shaking it off, but his face betrayed him. “Huh,” I said. “Yeah, I think you’re headed in to the nurse.” In he went. I figured I wouldn’t see it again, but there he was, ten minutes later. “Did you call home, Brian?” I asked, surprised he wasn’t being picked up. “Yeah, I talked to my dad. He said I should stay here and that he’d look at it tonight.” I smiled. Classic. That is such a classic parent move. You’re fine. You’ll be alright. Drink some water. Give it 10 minutes. Let’s see how it is tomorrow. Buy yourself a gatorade. Most times, our kids’ complaints are nothing. They go away. But sometimes, they don’t. It turns out to be a raging ear infection. A fractured bone. An asthma attack. A broken finger. And those are the stories that live to be told a thousand times over. I typically slice during lunch so the day doesn’t get away from me. Of course, today’s lunch came, and all I had for ideas were… crickets. Nothing. Writer’s block. I decided to postpone my writing, pushing it off for lack of anything with substance. Little did I know my very next class would present me with the nugget below.
******************* It’s 12:25, and I’ve kicked off my 3rd/4th grade combined ESL class. We’re using numbered heads together (a great structure if you’ve never used it) to write opinions using strong vocabulary. I notice the back table is struggling in the first round, which happens to be about skeletons. I slide my chair over to held guide the discussion. “Alright I see you’ve all written something down and are ready to put your heads together, share, and select which one you think is the strongest. What do you all have?” I look around. And stop. Skeletons are damd. Reads the first whiteboard. “Mhmm, mhmm,” I say aloud. Internally, my mind is racing. Does that really say ‘Skeletons are damned’? I mean… I guess they are. But is that what she actually wrote? No one says anything. My internal dialogue presses on. Should I ask her to share hers so I can hear the pronunciation? But then what if it really is ‘damned’? My thoughts are interrupted by Lupe*. “I mean… I kind of agree with Natalia*. But I also don’t know if that’s the best one. I kind of want to pick another one.” Great. Well, that didn’t particularly help. But Lupe continues, “I guess skeletons are dumb. But I also like Stefan’s* sentence too.” I smile. DUMB. That’s a ‘u’, not an ‘a’. And that’s a classic reversal. DUMB. Not Damd. Ha! Relieved to have escaped a discussion about the appropriateness of using ‘damned’ in a 3rd grade lesson, I continue guiding the group discussion towards consensus. I roll back toward the front of the room, tucking the story into the folds of my memory to be retrieved after school. Thank goodness I didn’t write something inane at lunch, just to complete a writing assignment. This was worth the wait! *Student names have been changed. I survey the stairs
Dirty socks Discarded Sweatshirts A pair of slippers Q-tips refills A box of diapers The Stairs AKA Catch-all Clutter-collector Home of all that no one cares to carry up right now, right this minute “I’ll take them up tonight” we say And later never comes Too busy Too tired Too many things in our hands already Or maybe it’s A mountain to scale An obstacle course to be conquered A game of see who can carry up the least Each night I’m left wondering Am I really the only one to notice the pile on the stairs? Sitting at the dining room table, taking in a few minutes of quiet before tackling the afternoon.
Before that I took a call from our pediatrician's office and rocked a sick babe to sleep. Before that I carried in the groceries from two unexpected (but much welcomed) mid-week, mid-day shopping stops: Trader Joe’s for soy-free hummus and bread, and Target for new four-year-old socks (may as well toss some in for the almost seven-year-old too) and a no frills, one-step-up-from-an-umbrella-stroller stroller. Everyone’s growing and sizing up! Before that I dropped off said four-year-old at daycare preschool. He barely said goodbye before jumping into the circle time dance session that was occurring, and his friends cheered. I stopped to appreciate the fact that our kids have always loved daycare, and that our daycare options have all been positive experiences. Before that I was the family “Good Morning!” alarm: two kids up and dressed; one dad downstairs making breakfast and packing school bags; one baby changed, dressed, and fed. Before that I awoke to the sound of a barking cough from the nursery, a sure sign that our youngest’s cold most likely did turn into croup. I took a moment to myself, rewriting the day in my head - from the productive work day I had planned to the stay-at-home mom version who gets bonus time with her last baby and who can maybe even tackle some wayward chores. ********************* Several of my slices this year have come as inspiration from Elisabeth at The Dirigible Plum, who’s theme for this year’s Slice of Life challenge is finding inspiration in the writing of others. This has inspired me to branch out, read more slices from more individuals I don’t know in this writing community, gleaning ideas for writing styles, formats, voices, themes, purposes and so much more. The format for today’s slice idea comes from Alison at A Place for Me. I’ve been waiting to use it on a day when I wasn't too exhausted at the end of the day to retrace my steps! Turns out today's change in plans was the perfect opportunity! |
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March 2022
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